


and now, the weather

by operationhades



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Bruce the scientist, Crossover, M/M, Night Vale version of amnesia, Night Vale version of everything, Not a fusion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Tony the radio host
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/operationhades/pseuds/operationhades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a new scientist and his team roll into town, Tony Stark, charming host of the community radio, doesn't think much of it besides a faint curiosity about what the hell they're even doing here. Then he hears news about the head scientist, and- more importantly- his amazing bed of perfect, wonderful, <em>gorgeous</em> hair.</p><p>Then he sees that hair for himself.</p><p>And Tony falls in love instantly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Night Vale knowledge is _probably_ required, and that knowledge should _probably_ be up to date. If you know about Tamika Flynn and her resistance made up of children like herself, then you're _probably_ good to go. I make no promises.
> 
> Concrit is very much welcome, but honestly, as with everything I write, take this with a grain of salt; although if you're capable of listening to Night Vale then you should be able to do that anyway, right? Right.
> 
> Pray for me friends, because I'm really nervous about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (First and second chapter beta'd by [ezekiewings.](http://www.ezekiewings.tumblr.com))

_“From the ashes of captivity, never has a phoenix metaphor been more personified. Welcome, to Night Vale.”_

* * *

They’ve just settled in, put all the equipment in the right places and finally brewed a pot of fresh coffee and tea to sip on as they rest for a moment. The space they’ve rented out and transformed into a lab looks clean and orderly, everything perfectly spaced, a mix of new equipment fitting in with the old furniture that had come with the place.

Bruce leans back in his chair, distractedly running a hand through his hair, and notices Jane fiddling with an old radio. It crackles and spurts, static vibrating out of it as she plays with the dial, eyebrows furrowed together until suddenly it screeches and dies with an alarmed huff. Jane startles backwards, surprise on her face, and glares around at the rest of them to make sure none of them laugh, and then slowly pokes at the rectangular little box again.

It beeps. Then a voice bursts out of nowhere, loud and painful, bidding the city they’re in goodbye. Then it dies again.

“No,” Jane mutters under her breath, “Work, you stupid thing. I can’t do my science in complete silence. _Please_.”

“I’m sure we can buy another in town,” Bruce says consolingly, amused despite himself at the fervent way she keeps fiddling with it. “Besides, we need to go out for a grocery run anyway.”

“Can you go?” She requests, turning beseeching eyes on him. “You know what we all like, and you never get lost.”

“Yeah,” says Jane’s intern quickly. “You should totally go.”

So Bruce does, tucking on his lab coat around him almost protectively and walking out into the hot desert weather of the city. He has his wallet in his pocket, directions to the nearest store from the map they’d been given at the City Council by a small, silent child, and cravings for noodles that will last him through to dinner, when hopefully they'll go out to a restaurant or something.

He grabs some more coffee, a packet of tea for himself, and is just getting said noodles when he starts noticing something strange. Specifically,  he starts noticing everybody else in the store staring at him with blatant curiosity. Bruce shrugs it off, explaining it away  as a small town never receiving guests, and ducks his head as he carries on shopping. He can’t find any corn – which he knows one of the interns really likes – even though the sign in front of the empty basket claims they should be there and cost a hefty dollar and a half. It also says the corn is imaginary, which doesn't really make sense.

Oh well, Bruce thinks to himself with a shrug, it most likely just means they’ve been finished.

He makes his way to the cashier, dropping everything on the conveyor belt and watching the blank-eyed teen beep them through. When the money gets rung up, he holds out the exact amount, but to his confusion, the teen... doesn’t take it. At all.

She barely even acknowledges him.

A bit disturbed, Bruce drops the money next to the till anyway, packs everything into two plastic bags, and hurries away, back to the lab.

“Sorry,” he greets them all as he walks in, gently putting the bags on the floor. “They were out of corn.”

Jane waves off the groan of disappointment from the intern with the taste for corn, fingers twitching towards the bags, and impatiently says, “Never mind that, you should come check out these readings. Because they just can’t be right.”

And so Bruce does.

* * *

  _“Ladies, gentlemen, and other things with different genders, it's come to my attention that we have some new members among us. Apparently, they live near Big Rico’s Pizza, and one was spotted shopping at the Night Vale Green Market Co-Op store. I know this doesn’t happen a lot, guys, but come on, chances of them actually sticking around are nil. Trust me, I should know, I’ve run the numbers. Everybody that comes in from the outside in groups either end up as ritual sacrifices, or disappear into the void. Groups and Night Vale do not go together. But if it had just been **one** of them, then sure, we could all sit around trading gossip and painting our fingernails. But it’s not, so there. Also, why the hell are they even here to begin with?_

_In other news, the leaders of our small town want me to tell you guys that we have a new dog park! It’s a dog park, but apparently, no dogs are allowed. I repeat, no **dogs** are allowed. Neither are people. Neither are we. **We** are not allowed in the dog park. None of us are allowed in the dog park. The dog park should not be entered or even **looked** at by any of us, so steer clear of the dog park, people. Steer **clear**._

_Also, angels are apparently a thing. Wait- No-, uh... Right, angels are **not** a thing. They do not exist, and should not be acknowledged, because **they do not exist**. Sorry guys. I’ll come back to that in a bit._

_But for now, how about a word from our sponsors...”_

* * *

“Oh hey,” says Jane, “We’re on the news.”

Bruce blinks, pulling himself out of the working daze he’d been in, looking up from the gutted seismograph in his hands. He notices that it’s only him and Jane, both of their interns probably in the other room catching a nap, but doesn’t notice a television or anything of the sort that explains what Jane could be talking about.

She _is_ wearing earphones though, the buds nestled comfortably into her ears, connected to her phone lying casually on the desk. She pulls the end out, and suddenly a voice rolls out of the phone’s speakers, talking about helicopters of all things, and Bruce just stares at Jane in confusion.

“It’s the community radio,” she explains, tucking a lock of hair behind an ear. “Talks about new stuff happening around town. Apparently _we’re_ the new stuff happening around town.”

“That’s not surprising,” Bruce frowns at her. “Considering that this isn’t a huge city or anything. People were staring at me at the store too.”

Jane shakes the seismograph in her own hand, a fruitless endeavour to get it to actually work, and nods in agreement. “You’re right. The guy speaking about us didn’t sound all that impressed though, so that’s no good. Maybe we should call a town meeting or something to introduce ourselves, get on the good graces of the people. And just what the hell is _wrong_ with this thing?”

“That’s... actually a good idea.”

“What?” Jane looks up, turns to face him, and blinks as if coming out of a daze. “What were we talking about again? Oh! Right, yeah, the radio thing. We could totally do it. I’ll get the other guys to call and stuff. I wanna get this thing working again.”

Bruce nods, turning his own focus to the equipment in front of him, and closes it back up with a few well-placed screws. Turning it on, he frowns as the seismograph stutters and hesitates before showing a reading that would mean they – and the entire city – are currently in the middle of a huge earthquake.

Sighing, Bruce turns it off, and rips it open again.

* * *

_“Guys! Guys! You would **not** believe what happened. So you know those new people? They called for a town meeting, and obviously I went there and stuff, because why the hell wouldn’t I, right? And apparently they’re scientists! All of them! **Scientists!** I remember when **I** was a scientist, back before when **I** was the new guy ‘round here, but wow, does it bring back memories. So anyway, there was the head girl, Jenny or something, but mostly there was this guy who was also the head guy standing next to her called **Bruce**. Bruce! Carla down at the Green Market tells me he was the one that was shopping, and that when she came out of her shift covered in blood and viscera and the shredded mess of mozzarella cheese, there was some money next to her cash register. Isn’t that nice, guys? That this Bruce would give her some money? And he’s a scientist!_

_Okay, okay, so I know you’re all probably rolling your eyes, because wow, Tony, way to fixate on one thing and one thing only. But I know you guys, I know **all of you guys** , and you guys live for this. The leader lady was blonde, or brunette, or, uh, maybe a red head I’m not sure, but **Bruce** was dark haired with messy ruffles and curls, wore glasses that he constantly kept pushing up, and said he and his science buddies were here because this city was an anomaly!_

_And then Old Woman Josie gave him a cupcake she baked and he **smiled**._

_And guys, let’s keep this between ourselves yeah, but at that smile, I **felt things**. Of, you know, **feelings**._

_It was totally weird._

_So anyway, speaking of Old Woman Josie, she says she has a light bulb she wants to sell. It was touched by an angel, a black angel to be precise, which is a nice distinction when you think about it. Because why would we be more interested in a light bulb touched by a **white** angel when we could have one touched by a **black** angel? Way to be racist there, Josie. But we all know she doesn’t really mean any harm by it. So there’s that. If you want that light bulb, go talk to her._

_By the way, angels don’t exist. They are not a thing. Absolutely not. Nope. Nada. No heavenly beings here, thank you very much.”_

* * *

Jane was giggling again.

Bruce sighs heavily and looks at the scene in front of him, ignoring the continued giggling growing more choked as Jane tries to hold it back. Behind them, equally giggling, are both Jane and Bruce’s interns, and the only similarity between all three of them are the earphones snug in their ears connected to their cell phones.

Bruce has a theory, a hypothesis, of what exactly could be causing them to giggle. But he doesn’t know _why_.

“We should-” Jane chokes out. “We should ch-check that house, right?”

They probably should, especially considering how all their readings are telling them an alarming tale of how the house doesn’t actually _exist_ , but considering his whole team seems more interested in snickering than experimenting, it seems a better (and safer) idea to just _not_.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Bruce says instead, turning around to face them. “One of you, give me your phone. Now.”

Immediately, all three hold their phones out to him. Bruce picks Jane’s, taking her earphones and slotting them into his own ears.

It doesn’t take long for the words to register, for the light tone oozing charm and wit to make sense, for Bruce to realise what exactly the person behind the radio show is saying. He feels his face heat up, dawning realization changing his expression to horror, and Jane turns away to avoid laughing in his face about it, because she has self preservation instincts. The other two are even less suicidal, trying to hide their amusement by covering their faces completely or just walking away, but the damage’s already been done.

Bruce stares down at the phone in his hand, and in an embarrassingly high voice croaks, “We’re buying a radio.”

* * *

 

_“...And now they’re all standing out at one of those new developments of Desert Creek, trying to figure out just why exactly that house doesn’t exist. Listeners, I can’t see them from where my window is, but thanks to all of you who are sending in recordings and live security footage, I can completely see Bruce and his amazing hair! Sure, there’s the whole thing with the seismic activity that says we should all be currently in the middle of a huge earthquake, but he’s new here, so cut him some slack, people, sheesh._

_To be brutally honest though, guys, I’m not exactly sure **what** the scientists are trying to achieve here. A house that looks like a house but doesn’t technically exist? Earthquakes that should be quaking the earth but are instead completely absent? That’s just normal. Now what **I** want to know is what the hell I have to do around here to get some decent coffee. Intern Brad used to make some pretty great coffee, but then he never came back from that thing with the Glow Cloud. Oh, right, he never actually **did** come back, crap. Uh, to the family of intern Brad, sorry. He used to make great coffee._

_... Traffic time!”_

* * *

 

Bruce starts listening to the community radio, following along with everything that’s happening around town almost religiously. It turns out to be incredibly helpful, if only because he knows when not to go outside lest he be assaulted by the dead animal carcasses the Glow Cloud emits, but it also keeps him up to date on all the things the host – _Tony_ – says about him.

And wow, does Tony say a _lot_. About him, that is.

It’s three parts creepy and embarrassing, hearing the way the host’s voice turns sultry and dirty whenever he’s describing Bruce, to hear the perfect way in which he translates messages from the City Council and the Sheriff’s Secret Police with the exact amount of intimidation and horror to properly get the message across, and then turns catty and amusing (to Bruce, anyway) when his interns do something to piss him off.

The radio now sits on his desk, next to his current project of the day, and he’s given up on keeping the volume low so only he can hear it because then the others would just listen in on their phones.

Jane, unsurprisingly, finds it absolutely hilarious, even if she’s kind enough to agree it’s kind of creepy too.

“But he’s a radio host!” She argues anyway, jotting down whatever reading she’s getting from her equipment. Maybe something about the sun again – Jane’s particularly pissed off at the timing in which the sun seems to decide to rise or fall. “So he’s used to just talking about anything and everything, I guess. It’s not _as_ creepy when you take that into account.”

She has a point, Bruce concedes, listening with half an ear as Tony recounts something about a random voice in his station booth, talking to him but at times simply screeching. “I’d prefer it if he didn’t speak about me over the air, though.”

“Oh?” Jane grins. “So you wouldn’t mind it if he spoke about you to your face, maybe? Or just spoke _to_ you to your face?”

“That’s not what I–”

“Bruce,” she interrupts him giddily. “I never understood why my old intern Darcy loved trying to set me up with people, but wow is this fun. You _absolutely_ need to go talk to him, ask him out maybe. He obviously won’t say no.”

Bruce feels horror at the mere idea of it. “No. Absolutely not.”

Jane just grins though, looking at the radio as Tony launches into something highly resembling dirty talk, only to then claim it to be the ad of the local sandwich store. She laughs at Bruce’s red face, even though she herself has a flush on her cheeks from the dirty, _dirty_ , words that had spilled out of the radio in Tony’s dirty, _dirty_ , voice.

Either way, it’s not until three weeks later that Bruce meets Tony, and Tony actually puts himself in a position in which to be met.

And it’s all thanks to Thor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene breaker line thing isn't working, so instead, have a bunch of #'s. Timeline time! You'll notice some discrepancies with night vale stuff, but it's all intentional. If you're knowledgeable about the marvel side of things, you'll notice I lengthened the time between Iron Man 1 and Thor 1 by two years instead of one. Roll with it. (Because two years sounds more dramatic than one.) Also, plot! Enjoy!
> 
> With that said, thank you guys for the lovely support! Seeing any response to this is amazing! <3

_“So if you’re even remotely observant, you’ll probably have noticed that we have another new person in town today. It’s just one guy, so chances of him getting devoured by creatures hidden underneath our feet are pretty damn small. He’s also pretty big, blond with an equally blond beard, wearing strange clothes that resemble armour and speaks like a librarian. However, and I can bring this news to you with the utmost amount of truth, he is **not** a librarian. I repeat, the newcomer is **not** a librarian, regardless of how he speaks._

_Instead, he’s called Thor._

_He says he’s from a different realm called Asgard, and that he’s a prince there, and wants to know if anybody has seen his hammer. So if anybody **does** see a stray hammer, please call in so we can pass on the information and give Thor back his hammer. We’re all nice people here, and I’m sure we’ll find his hammer pretty quickly and reunite it with him, because it totally sucks losing something right? Of course I'm right; I'm always right._

_So anyway, Thor came crashing in from the sky in a huge display of blue lights. That’s right people, the blue lights you witnessed near Old Woman Josie’s house was actually him, and not her angels attempting to party again. I’ll warn you guys when they wanna party, considering that they’ll call me up or abduct me in the middle of the night for it like they always do, so I wouldn’t worry about all the noise and stuff unless I actually tell you it’s gonna go down and to brace yourselves for divine intervention. **Then** you need to worry._

_Bruce, with his perfectly wonderful hair that I just want to run my fingers through and **yank** , and his team of weirdo scientists, came rushing out as soon as they saw the light to see what all the fuss was about. Apparently, the light caused all their equipment to go absolutely crazy, which **duh** , of course it would, it’s not **just** light in there, but energy moving in a kinetic force that dispels electric charge. Thor’s practically **brimming** with it, and the first time I touched him I got zapped. It was totally awesome._

_Anyway, by then Bruce had arrived, and I wanted to introduce myself to him, so I did. I went up to him and said, “Hi! You must be Bruce. I’m Tony.” And he held his hand out to me and smiled and said, “It’s good to finally meet you, Tony.”_

_It’s good to **finally** meet you, he said. **Finally** , he said. As if he’d been eagerly waiting to do just that ever since **hearing** of me! Obviously I was completely happy about that, sure, but we **all** know my aversion to handshakes and things being handed to me, so I just froze and panicked and said, “Yeah, no. I don’t want to shake your hand.”_

_Can you **believe that**? I said **I don’t want to shake your hand**. Not that I had a problem with hands and everything that came with them, or that it was equally nice to meet him, but **I don’t want to shake your hand** , as if I didn’t like him and it was **him** I had a problem with. Holy shit, I don’t think I’ve embarrassed myself like that since I was ten._

_Not... that I **remember** being ten, but whatever, you know what I mean._

_So anyway, while I was beating myself up and Bruce awkwardly took his hand back, one of his scientist friends had started talking to Thor. It was one of the ladies, and she kept blushing, not that I blame her because **wow** , Thor is definitely easy on the eyes. But Thor equally blushed back! Isn’t that adorable, guys?_

_I smell love in the air~!_

_Now if only I could stop embarrassing myself and succeed in riding Bruce like a cowboy.”_

A heavy sigh.

_“Thor’s staying with me anyway, since I have the space and I rarely sleep. The Sheriff’s Secret Police seem unbothered by him, though our, ahem, **lovely** Mayor has put out a missive saying arrival by air is **not** a viable means of entry, and would like us all to kindly remember that from now on._

_Besides that, though, not much else to report on this story. I’ll come back to it if anything new happens, but yeah, let’s move on to something else.”_

#

“Aaaaw, he totally froze and blurted out the wrong thing!” Jane coos, all but stroking the radio where it sits innocently on their table. “That’s so adorable!”

“He also just told everybody about your crush on Thor.” Bruce grumbles, fighting the blush that threatens to once more engulf his face.

To his satisfaction, Jane chokes and equally goes up in flames, to which Bruce kindly offers, “Mutual ignorance?”

“Deal.”

And that’s that.

#

_“I’ve got more news on the Thor front! Remember Thor? Big, blonde and dropped in from the sky? It was just the other day, guys, come on, you can’t have forgotten already! I know there was that thing with the snow that turned out to be life sucking parasites that the Glow Cloud saved us from by accident, but still! Thor!_

__Yes, yes **Thor** , yeah the one that's been living over at my place for the last two nights. Anyway, o_nly just moments ago, a whole caravan of strangely black vehicles came careening into Night Vale, taking up residence around the circular indention Thor’s light show and consequent landing had left behind. These vehicles are so obviously part of a vague yet menacing government, because they have a strange logo displayed almost everywhere on their body. Of the vehicles, that is. Not the actual bodies._

_The City Council firmly informs all residents to stay **away** from the vague yet menacing government, and to leave it to the Sheriff’s Secret Police until we can figure out just **what** they’re here for._

_I wanna know why the hell they’re all wearing suits, though, like **seriously**. Suits are only meant for the annual worm infested snake parade. I really hate suits. We should all just burn suits. In fact, I’m sending in a petition as we speak to burn suits. More on that, later._

_The Night Vale Elementary School would like to kindly encourage their students and the parents of said students to teach their children about emotions. Emotions are fickle things, claiming to be a part of our subconscious but completely devoid of it. They try to control us, try to **rule** us, and are not to be allowed free reign. Dominate your emotions, **terrorise** your emotions, keep them locked up and whimpering in the recess of your hollowed bones._

_Also, it says something here on the paper they sent me about chocolate, but I can’t really make it out because it’s written in hieroglyphics and I’ve never really been good at that. Sorry, Night Vale Elementary School, I just never attended you guys. I’m not sure **where** exactly I **did** attend, but it certainly wasn’t there._

_Calendar time! Monday looks clear, Tuesday sounds hoarse, and Thursday tastes like Thor. Friday is the day we fry our hearts and minds and leave them for the ravens to eat. Saturday and Sunday are recreational days, for all your drug use._

_That was the community calendar schedule for the next decade!”_

#

“I know that logo,” Bruce frowns, glaring at the gathering of government agents. “That’s SHIELD.”

Jane’s crouching down next to him behind the dumpster, peering out every now and then but is too afraid to actually stay out for long in case she’s spotted. “SHIELD? I’ve never heard of them.”

“They’re secret, meant to deal with... well... people like the Other Guy.”

Giving him a quick glance, Jane turns to look back at the group, face now frowning herself. “So what, you think they’re here for the Hulk?”

He winces at her blatant use of the name, but shakes his head. “Maybe they know I’m here, maybe they don’t, but I think they came for Thor.”

The frown becomes stronger, displeasure clear on her face as she says, “They are _not_ going to take Thor. Thor did nothing wrong!”

“He’s still not entirely human, and apparently a God from a completely different realm.” Bruce explains calmly, wondering to himself when the hell something like that even seemed _possible_ let alone probably the truth. Night Vale, ladies and gentlemen. “They can’t let that go, especially since he’s calling himself Thor, the Norse God of Thunder. I just don’t understand why they haven’t come for the whole city. This whole _place_ screams something that they’d be interested in. Which can only mean two things: either a) they have no clue about Night Vale, or b) they do and have always known but haven’t done anything about it.”

“You don’t think someone will tell them where Thor is, though, right?” Jane asks hesitantly, watching as one of the men in suits orders everyone around. “And what could they even do about Night Vale if they knew? Wipe the whole city off the map?”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but that’s an answer in itself.

Jane stares at him, understanding the silence, and then digs her phone out and punches in some numbers.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asks her hesitantly, seeing the determination in her eyes and feeling _very_ concerned by it.

“I’m doing my duty as a citizen of Night Vale and reporting in new information,” comes the far too quick reply. “Everyone should know who they are, and what exactly they’re planning.”

He has a theory, a hypothesis, of what exactly she’s talking about, and he absolutely does not like it. “Jane, please tell me you’re not–”

She pushes the phone into his chest, and just as he fumbles with it to make sure it doesn’t drop, he hears the line click and connect.

_“Hello?”_

Oh God. He was right. His hypothesis was _right_.

_“Hellloooooo? Who is it?”_

Bruce brings the phone up to his ear, dread curling in his stomach, and chokes out, “Hello Tony. I’m, uh, calling for business.”

Jane slaps a hand to her face.

On the other end of the call, Tony audibly brightens up, replying, “ _Bruce! Brucie bear! You called! What can I help you with?”_

Struggling to hold back the embarrassment from the pet name, Bruce stutters out, “I-It’s about the government guys in the desert. They’re from a group called SHIELD – Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division – and they’re secret, for the most part. They’re here for Thor.”

To his surprise and worry, Tony stays quiet for a long moment before giving a pained, _“Shit.”_

“Tony? Are you okay?” Bruce questions, worry half making it sound like a demand.

_“Ah crap, yeah I’m fine. Just a migraine. I get them sometimes.”_ There’s a pause, a rustle, then the distinct sound of a pill bottle being snapped open and closed, and water being swallowed afterwards. _“Anyway, what’s this ‘bout Thor? Some crooks come blazing in and want to take him for themselves?”_

“Tony,” Bruce sighs, dimly realising he’s saying Tony’s name an awfully large amount of times. “They aren’t crooks, they’re government. They’re... They’re secret for a reason, Tony, and that’s because the public wouldn’t much approve of some of the things they do.” That was an understatement. “Maybe you should tell everyone to stay away from them, for their own safety.”

Tony makes an understanding noise on the other end, and casually says, _“Alright then, warning received. I’ll pass on the message to everyone, make sure they steer clear. Are you, Jeff, and the other two okay where you are?”_

Confused, Bruce says, “Who’s Jeff?”

Tony, without missing a beat, goes, _“I don’t have a freaking clue. Neither do I care. Look, anyway, I gotta go, since the traffic’s almost finished, but I’ll pass on your information. Wanna go out for coffee sometime?”_

Bruce splutters, shock taking over, and instinctively says, “I don’t drink coffee.”

He regrets it immediately, but Tony’s already gracefully bowing out and bidding him goodbye, and before he can even say anything, the phone goes dead. Slowly, regretfully, Bruce hands the phone back to Jane, who stares at him knowingly as she takes it back and says, “He asked you out for coffee, didn’t he?”

Dropping his head in shame, Bruce nods.

Jane sighs and pats him consolingly on the knee.

#

_“And we’re back from the weather! During the break, humans and non-human entities, I got a call from Bruce! He told me, in his delicious tenor of a voice perfectly suited for issuing out orders of the bedroom variety, that the vague yet menacing government agency taking up residence on the outskirts of our town is **not** so much vague but **still** a menacing government agency, just not ours. They’re called SHIELD, which stands for some really long and stupid ass name I didn’t bother to memorise, but apparently, they’re here because they think they can take our latest guest Thor away from us._

_That’s right, ladies and gentle-existences, these people are here to **harm us**. To harm one of our own. Let’s show them what exactly Night Vale is made off, and more to the point, that we don’t allow their discriminatory ways on modes of transportation. If a being wishes to enter a city via the open void above us, then by hell, they can do it. Although I have to repeat that the Mayor said that you **can’t** , but whatever, he says a lot of things, and have you guys noticed that he does it himself? What a douche. So anyway, who even cares what he says anymore, just ignore him, seriously._

_So anyway, these people want to take Thor and do unspeakable things to him, and-”_

A door opens. Shuts.

_“-Wait, who are you-”_

Rustling. Shouts.

_“-Don’t **touch me**. Hey! Watch the goods! Listeners, if you can he- hear me, I’m being assaulted by the government suits! They- They are- Argh, goddammit, that freakin’ **hurt** , Jesus- trying to remove me from my seat! I’ll come back in a bit, but until then–”_

A click.

_“–the weather.”_

#

Bruce _loses his shit_ when he finds out, and by losing his shit, he means transforming into a huge, green, rage monster.

A huge, green, rage monster that stares around at his unfamiliar surroundings, spots a familiar menacing government, and proceeds to utterly decimate it to the ground.

As usual, Bruce remembers absolutely nothing about what happens, but instead comes back to awareness to Tony holding him up, arms around his naked self, and the remains of a thoroughly destroyed base of operations.

Thor is also there, wearing a grey coloured, baggy tracksuit, looking comical with his size and blond hair and giant hammer in hand, and on noticing Bruce’s return to consciousness, booms, “I was not aware of your delightful persona, friend Bruce!”

Confused, Bruce groans in reply, and groans again when Tony helpfully supplies him with, “He means your giant, green, angry self.”

Oh god, he thinks somewhat hysterically, here comes the end of _that_ possibility of romance.

“Which was, not gonna lie, but,” Tony continues, hitching Bruce up further to adjust his hold on him. “A totally hot surprise. Watching you coming in all angry and huge and destroying everything around and making those SHIELD goons run screaming for their lives was like the best part of my day.”

Bruce stares down at his feet, regret and self-hatred swirling inside him, until the words actually register and make sense and leave him absolutely bewildered. “Uh...” he says intelligently. “What?”

“I am once more worthy! This calls for celebration! And I have not had a fight as satisfying as such for an age!” Thor bellows, lifting his hammer up in gleeful cheer.

“And I haven’t had such an inappropriately timed boner since I can remember.” Tony adds on, completely flippantly.

“I... um... I...”

“YOU BROKE HIM!” A new voice says, and it sounds like Jane, except small in volume because she’s far away shouting from a safe distance. “YOU BREAK HIM, YOU FIX HIM!”

Tony brightens up at that, and happily says, “I can definitely do that! I’m totally an awesome fixer! I fix things for jokes!”

“LADY JANE!” Thor shouts back, turning to Jane with a bright smile and completely missing Bruce wincing at the volume. “YOU LOOK MOST RADIANT TODAY!”

“THANK YOU THOR!” Jane shouts in reply, waving her hands giddily in the air. “YOU- YOU LOOK NICE TOO! I REALLY LIKE YOUR PANTS!”

Bruce looks up at that, and it’s just in time to catch Jane slap herself in the face with an embarrassed groan.

Hah, so he’s not the only one that fails at this romance thing. He decides to take that as a good thing, and completely ignore everything else.

#

Of the SHIELD agents left, there’s Agent Phillip Coulson, Agent Clint Barton – codenamed Hawkeye – and an old familiar face, Agent Natasha Romanov – aka Black Widow.

Bruce doesn’t miss the way she inches around him, keeping a wide berth.

It’s interesting though, watching the obvious dynamic between the three, how Agent Coulson takes charge and how the other two fall in line without a word. The man named Barton seems the most sociable of the three, snarky and totally impressed by Thor’s fighting skills (because apparently Thor had taken the Hulk head on to distract him so the other agents (who are no longer around) could run for their lives). Romanov – or should he call her Black Widow even in the safety of his mind? – shows no emotion at all and doesn’t say a word, though her eyes often move to Tony and analyse him in a way that makes Bruce nervous.

Coulson is talking now, explaining that they’d only been taking Tony in to question him on how exactly he knew about them since they’d heard him on the radio, that he hadn’t known Bruce was in town, and that they were indeed here for Thor, but not to take him anywhere. They just wanted to be around in case humanity's first extra-terrestrial contact became violent rather than benevolent.

“Well it didn’t,” Jane says, arms folding across her chest where she stands next to Thor. “So you can leave now.”

Coulson doesn’t seem fazed by her, but instead coolly replies, “No, we cannot.”

“And why, exactly, can you not?” Bruce asks, voice a mirror image in coolness.

The answer comes with no hesitation and a nod to Tony. “Because of him.”

Expression turning to confusion, Tony points a finger at himself and says, “What? Me?”

“Yes, Mr Stark,” Coulson affirms, voice taking on a surprising tone of harassment, looking like he’s barely holding back the urge to roll his eyes. “We can’t leave here because of you and your disappearing act, and the fact that we’ve presumed you were dead for over two years.”

Bruce goes still, and beside him, so does Jane.

Barton lets out a low whistle, bouncing on the heels of his feet, and into the dead-like silence says, “I thought he looked familiar.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says after, voice stern and not sorry in the least. “But I’m sure you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Are you, or are you not, Anthony Edward Stark?” Coulson asks, sounding more like he’s demanding an answer rather than requesting one.

The answer comes immediately with a note of relief, “Nope. Jeez, I _knew_ you were mistaking me for someone else. Just because we share the same surname doesn’t mean we’re the same people. I’m _Tony_ Stark. Not this Anthony Whatever Stark.”

And the thing is, Bruce can see it clear as day that Tony really believes that. He genuinely doesn’t have a single clue who he is, or what being Tony Stark actually _means_. Now that Bruce actually knows his surname (something he only now notices he hadn’t known before), the resemblance becomes uncanny. Tony has the same hair, the same smile, the same eyes, and even the same iconic beard. It’s still him, completely and utterly the man that had gone missing only a few short months after being found in Afghanistan two years ago. It’s still him, the late CEO of Stark Industries, one of the brightest – if not _the_ brightest – minds of all time, the weapons manufacturer who had closed down his weapons making business and began in other, more peaceful, avenues of getting filthy rich.

It’s still him, the man that created and _was_ Iron Man.

How the hell had Bruce not noticed?

“You’re all pulling a weird face,” says Tony, bringing Bruce out of his thoughts. “Why are you all pulling such a weird face?

Thor equally looks confused, looking between them all and Jane. Helpfully, he says, “Perhaps they met your double, friend Tony.”

Tony’s eyes brighten up, and he slaps his hands together in recognition. “Oh! Totally! That would explain everything. He didn’t, uh, hurt you guys did he? I got him pretty quick, but there was an hour or two where he was missing, sorry.”

It’s Barton that warily asks, “... Double?”

“Verily!” Shouts Thor, raising his hammer up towards the ceiling of the room they’re in. Bruce distantly notices how the top of the hammer just barely skirts the roof. He’s curious just how tall Thor is, and if it’s common wherever he came from. “This majestic city was once plagued by terrifying doubles that wished nothing but violence towards their counterparts. There were many casualties, and to this day it is unknown if the people of Night Vale are the originals or the doubles that have taken their place!”

“You guys wouldn’t know,” Tony explains to a confused Bruce and Jane. “It was during that whole storm thing a while back that totally swallowed you guys whole in your lab. You weren’t able to listen in on that day were you?”

Bruce shakes his head, surprise ringing through him at the news. “There were _clones_?”

“And they _attacked you_?” Jane asks, looking equally shocked.

Tony nods, looking completely unbothered whereas the agents are starting to look... increasingly alarmed. Even the Black Widow has an eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other. “Yup. Most people claim they won, but then again the losers can’t exactly speak can they? So everyone won, except the clones would also say they won because in a way they totally did because they’re not dead, and that’s a win in everyone’s book, right? So basically it’s hard to tell who’s who and what not but hey, what can you do besides lock yourself up in the basement with your blood stones and a virgin sacrifice.”

Agent Coulson clears his throat, lips pressing tightly into a thin line, and carefully asks, “What, exactly, are you talking about?”

Bruce can answer _that_. “Night Vale.” He says simply, and beside him, Jane nods her head quickly and with too much enthusiasm.

Tony rolls his eyes and says to Thor, “Outsiders. They just don’t get anything, y’know?”

Grinning, Thor gives Tony a friendly pat on the back – almost throwing Tony to the ground if Bruce hadn’t quickly caught him – and booms, “Indeed, friend! Lady Jane was equally confused by my tale of the bilgesnipes!”

#

They all go to Bic Rico’s afterwards for their mandated weekly pizza slice, the SHIELD agents trailing after them with growing confusion and a sense of unease that visibly permeates the hot desert air around them and turns it into a disgustingly suspicious violet. Tony and Thor talk all the while, sharing stories and laughing, talking about creatures unheard off and adventures in a language that makes the Hulk stir restlessly in confusion.

Bruce doesn’t know what to think about Tony, about the revelation that the host of the Night Vale Community Radio may in fact be the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist Tony Stark. Jane keeps elbowing him in the kidney; eyebrows doing this strange thing that nevertheless gets her point across that she thinks he hit the goldmine. Bruce just frowns at her, and carries on ignoring the sensation of drills boring into his back from the general direction of the Black Widow.

“And the thing is,” Tony’s saying in English now, having previously been speaking something Bruce is pretty sure is no longer in use, gesticulating with his hands and smiling in a dashingly charming way, “I totally did it, recorded every place the clock tower rung from and calculated it and made a pretty damn accurate schedule of time and location. But then the Sheriff’s Secret Police ratted me out and the City Council took me in for re-education. I can’t remember a damn thing about that tower now, but I do get a vague sensation of satisfaction whenever I think about it.”

They’re about to sit around a table after ordering when Bruce looks around at the other citizens, notices them curiously staring, and diplomatically says, “Maybe we should go to our lab instead.”

Tony looks at him, visibly brightens as soon as he makes eye contact, and happily says, “Cool!”

Somewhere, in the three-person-shadow behind him, Bruce hears Barton quietly hiss, “... Did Tony Stark just say _cool_?”

Coulson, equally quiet, replies, “Something is very wrong here.” And isn’t that the god given truth.

Bruce can sit them down and explain everything, explain that Night Vale’s a living sentient thing that only exists to fuck you up, that Night Vale’s the living personification of Mother Nature, in that she’s a bitch and actively enjoys causing fatal wounds in the most unique and perverse of manners. He can even sit them down and give them his theories on Tony, half of which start with, “If he _is_ Tony and not some bizarre look-alike, then...”

He can. But Bruce still needs to complete his allotted time of vindictiveness before the City Council come for _him_ , and this seems as good a time as any.

They grab their pizza and leave, and it only takes a short while to get to the lab and to sit around in the relatively safe space of their work area. Tony’s looking around eagerly, body twitching with restless energy, and Bruce realises right then that this is the first time Tony’s actually been in his lab. It’s a strange thought, because after hearing Tony enthuse about him on the radio almost every day, after hearing him casually mention little things about himself – like how Old Woman Josie always gives him baked goods made with what he thinks is the blood of her enemies – it feels like he _knows_ Tony, and every now and then he forgets that in return, Tony doesn’t actually know _him_.

“So,” Barton coughs, first one to speak up, grimacing as he eyes his pizza with heavy suspicion. “First off, is this thing safe? I think I see something crawling on it. Secondly, I think I just saw a cloud shitting dead animals a street or two away. And thirdly, what the hell’s wrong with you, Stark?”

Tony frowns at Barton, looking unimpressed as he takes a bite of his own pizza, chews, and swallows. Besides him, Thor does the same with a fearless abandon that impresses Bruce greatly. “First off,” says Tony in a perfect imitation of Barton. “It’s just pizza. If you want to be safe I’d advise you to eat it. Secondly, the Glow Cloud will piss on everything you love if you ever say that again, and it will _know_ if you say it, because it knows _everything_. And thirdly, who the hell are you even? Vague yet menacing agents aren’t supposed to have bows and arrows. They’re supposed to have fire breathing krakens. Everyone knows this. Are you, like, undercover?”

For a long while, Barton just stares at Tony, and, like a child looking for reassurance, turns to Coulson. Coulson just sighs and eats his pizza, and beside him, both agents – Hawkeye _and_ Black Widow – eat their pizzas too.

“I’m assuming you didn’t recognise him, Dr Banner,” Coulson says after they’ve all finished, grabbing his attention from where he’d been awkwardly mesmerised by the sight of Tony licking his fingers clean. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”

He wants to say no, he _can_ say no, because SHIELD will forever be afraid of the Hulk for good reasons, but Night Vale is just so insane that he can’t even bring himself to keep quiet about it. “This city registers as constantly having an eight point nine on the Richter scale, without pause, and yet nobody has ever felt so much as a single tremor, including us.” He starts, gesturing at him and Jane who nods wildly in confirmation. “There are people with multiple limbs and heads casually walking around, a five headed dragon named Hiram who’s the mayor-“

“- _Literally_ a five headed dragon,” Tony interrupts, stressing the word. “And he seriously sucks, oh my god. Worst. Mayor. _Ever._ ”

Bruce nods at the widening eyes of the agents, because _oh_ , he _knows_. “And angels hang around an elderly woman’s house, except you’re not supposed to acknowledge angels exist because they don’t exist, and the dog park in town is forbidden for anyone to enter, be it dogs or people, and if you see hooded figures there then you’re in trouble because you shouldn’t be looking there in the first place.”

“Also,” Jane speaks up, tucking a lock of hair behind an ear. “Everybody’s responded to Thor with absolute flippancy. They just don’t care. Mostly because they deal with weirder shit on a higher scale than even the Hulk.”

“People are going to _love_ that,” Tony enthuses, rocking in his chair. “Plus, Bruce, did you know you meet the requirements for a discount at the Night Vale Ammunition store? Big, green and angry means you get 50% off all things guns! Guns don’t kill people; they help us protect our young against the vicious nature of unicorns.”

“See?” Says Bruce, palms up in a sign of supplication. “We came here in the first place because of some atmospheric disturbances, then ended up staying to try and understand just _what_ was so wrong with this city, but so far we’ve just been trying to survive.”

“Just you two?” Coulson asks, looking at him and Jane.

Bruce shares a look with her, and Jane quietly says, “There were four of us.”

Tony jerks around to face them, surprise on his face for a single moment before it turns into dawning realisation. “ _Oh_ , right. Uh, shit; they were interns, weren’t they.”

Bruce nods, even though Tony hadn't actually asked a question, not really, and doesn’t elaborate for the curious looks from Barton.

“So the chances of Mr Stark truly not being _the_ Mr Stark are...” Coulson trails off, and Bruce fills in the gap with a sufficient, “A hundred percent on Tuesdays, fifty on Thursday, and Wednesday’s are still cancelled, so I wouldn’t know.”

Next to him, Tony gives a roguishly charming grin, and happily announces to the air, “You hear that Faceless? My Brucie’s _learning_!”

The sound of a shattering window in the next room over makes the agents twitch. Jane barely even bothers blinking. They’ve gotten used to the Faceless Old Lady That Secretly Lives In Your Home. She tends to flip tables whenever one of their machines is close to finishing doing a reading or anything similar, like the way a kettle whistles when the water’s boiling.

“I’m so freakin’ confused right now,” Barton whispers into the ensuing silence.

#

_“Guys! You probably saw the rising dust from sand being smashed along with the equipment of the not-so-vague yet still menacing government agency that was **not** our own, but you probably also don’t understand! So I’ll tell you about it, because that’s what I do, because that’s my job, but first-_

_Bruce. **Kissed**. Me._

**_I know right?!_ **

_It was after the whole SHIELD thing, but get this, Bruce transforms into this big green guy who calls himself the Hulk! He’s freaking strong and really hates suits and the government, and just so you guys can picture it, think the requirements for Night Vale’s very own Ammunition & Guns store discount, and then think of them all being met with flying colours! That’s the Hulk!_

_So basically SHIELD kidnapped me and wanted to know how I knew about them. They’re not very bright, ladies and gentlemen, but hey, what can you do with outsiders, right? They didn’t even bring out any **tools** or anything, like, seriously? I feel as if I should feel insulted. Should I? Should I feel offended that all they did was keep asking me redundant questions and occasionally shout said questions at me? Not even a **punch** , god. Anyway, the Hulk came and totally saved my ass! It was **awesome**. Thor was there too, because he was listening to my broadcast that time and he’s great because he came running to my rescue, can you believe that? He’s so freaking happy all the time, oh my god, and he totally **gets** Night Vale, without even a little bit of confusion like every other outsider. He broke his cup after finishing his coffee and asked for another! Without being told! If he hadn’t, the organism living in my carpet would’ve raged and clawed my whole apartment building down. Jeez, my landlord would’ve **killed me**._

_Anyway, Bruce – after transforming back to his amazingly, perfectly haired self and crooked glasses and **no clothes on** ,holy shit – walked me back here to the station, and he apologized for getting me involved. Obviously he doesn’t know about my, uh,-”_

A cough.

Multiple coughs.

Some hacking noises leading to an unearthly shriek.

_“- **colourful** beginning here in Night Vale. Or even just the scope of my job here as your dashingly good looking host. And then I invited him up for lunch, he said he didn’t really feel hungry, and then he walked away. I was just about to turn around and leave too, because hey, what can you do when you’ve been rejected right? But then I heard him call my name and he totally ran back and **kissed me** , Jesus fucking Christ, I’m gonna have to file in the paperwork for fireworks exploding behind my eyes. I **hate** paperwork, but intern Jerry apparently went into Station Management’s office and never came back out, the idiot._

_Oh, um, right. To the family of intern Jerry, blah blah blah, yadda yadda, you know the deal._

_Anyway, that happened. It was great. Also, the remaining forces of the not so vague and no longer menacing government agency has been reduced to three agents. I don’t really know their names since it’s not important but let’s call them Agent Agent, Biceps, and Creepy Ass Lady. Biceps had something to do with birds, not sure what, I wasn’t really listening, and Creepy Ass Lady was just creepy. And a red head._

__…_  Red haired people terrify me, for some reason._

_… Listeners! A representative of the Sheriff’s Secret Police is here with a message! The messenger just so happens to be the AI I built last year, y’know, the one that was never quite right and in the end I decided to just donate it to them for their suspiciously alert uses? Yeah, that one. I still don’t have a name for the little guy, but I've been told by our balaclava wearing freedom fighters that he’s really helpful, and perfect for eviscerating deadly marine life._

_Oh, and apparently they’re calling him Shelly._

_Even though they agree that Shelly’s a girl’s name and the ‘bot is most definitely a he._

_Oh, but right, the message. It says, and I read; PLEASE REMEMBER TO SPEAK LOUDLY AND CLEARLY WHEN HAVING CERTAIN CONVERSATIONS. THESE CONVERSATIONS INCLUDE – BUT ARE NOT LIMITED TOO – MATTERS OF THE HEART, YOUR NEIGHBOURS, THE NAME OF YOUR FAVOURITE SUPERHERO AND WHY, AND SEX, BECAUSE WE GET BORED CONSTANTLY LISTENING TO YOU BITCHING AND YOUR SEX LIFE IS THE ONLY THING THAT’S VAGUELY INTERESTING. THAT, AND YOUR NEIGHBOURS. WOW, DO YOU GET BITCHY WHEN TALKING ‘BOUT YOUR NEIGHBOURS._

_And that message was brought to you by the Sheriff’s Secret Police. And Shelly. Can’t forget Shelly… Shut up, Shelly, I **just** mentioned you, stop being such an attention seeker._

_... Shelly, if you don’t go back to wherever the hell you even came from I’m going to rip you apart and rebuild you as a fryer for Big Rico’s._

_I swear to my blood runes Shelly-_

_Shelly-_

_Don’t you leave when I’m talking to you-!_

_Aaaar_ _rggh. Immature little brat._

_Excuse me while I go hunt him down and try and see where the hell he even got his petulance from. God, the things I have to put up wi-_

_-And now, the weather!”_

#

Coulson’s face is a face of pure and utter constipation. “Stark used to call me Agent Agent. Before he died-… well, disappeared.”

“I didn’t know he was affiliated with SHIELD,” says Bruce in a neutral response, steadfastly ignoring the splotchy red on his cheeks from Tony’s latest rant and the memory of his own impulsive act. He doesn't regret it, not when it seems like Tony actually likes him back and isn't terrified of the Other Guy. It... just isn't really him. Still, the constant stalemate they were in because they kept saying the wrong thing obviously isn't a problem anymore, so success!

“He isn’t,” Coulson answers, still looking mildly bothered by the situation around him. From the radio, a [woman wails in Latin](https://soundcloud.com/sekttorteam/libera-me-from-hell-1), the opera soon trailing off into silence before suddenly bursting out into rap. Bruce is used to the weather segment of the show by now, and secretly thinks a playlist of all the songs Tony plays will be the closest thing to a scientific representation of Night Vale _anyone_ will ever get. “We tried recruiting him, for his... intelligence, obviously. He reacted less than favourably. Obviously.”

Yeah... Bruce could definitely see that. After Afghanistan, Tony Stark definitely hadn’t seemed like the guy who’d join something like SHIELD. He’d always been a lone wolf of sort – the media especially loved that about him – and that hadn’t changed after he’d been kidnapped. Soon after surviving that ordeal, Tony Stark had gone on to die in a battle with somebody in a copy of his Iron Man suit. Not that anybody had known that it was _him_ in that suit until hours later when an official statement had come from Stark Industries and SHIELD. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, not even hours later the media had blown up with news of Stark’s closest family friend and father figure Obaidah Stane equally being dead for unknown reasons. Bruce always figured SHIELD had something to do with it, but he could never tell if their involvement had been in a positive or negative manner.

“Were you guys there during that last battle?” He asks carefully. “With that copy-cat Iron Man suit?”

Coulson nods his head. “We... arrived too late. We were only able to extract Pe- Ms Potts from the scene. During your acquaintance with... _this_ Mr Stark, did you at all think he seemed even slightly familiar?”

“I really, really, didn’t. At least, not until you mentioned it. I only know Mr Stark from the media and his research papers, but even his appearance didn’t seem familiar. Again, not until you mentioned it. Now I can’t stop thinking about him actually being _the_ Tony Stark, and how I missed it.”

Nodding again to show his understanding, Coulson purses his lips thoughtfully and eyes the way Barton pokes at one of Jane’s equipment. “He also mentioned an AI he built, one that ‘wasn’t right’.” At Bruce’s no doubt confusion, Coulson explains, “He has one wired into his tower back in New York, as well as in his home in Malibu, and maybe some other places. I believe he calls that one Jarvis.”

“An _AI_? A fully functioning artificial intelligence?” Bruce gapes, staring at the agent.

Lips quirking, Coulson nods. “Plus another one he calls Dummy. I’ve been informed there are two others, but that I am not to speak of them on pain of death.”

“But then...” Bruce trails off, clears his throat, and starts again. “The coincidences become too much. Same name, same face, same nickname for you _and_ the same genius level intellect? I used to think AIs were a still good forty years in the future from even being _possible_ , let alone actually built and around. I just tribute everything here to…  well... Night Vale.”

“For good reason,” Coulson concedes, lips tugging down into distaste. “This city is worrying. I’m surprised it hasn’t yet been noticed by SHIELD. Or _anyone_ , for that matter. We only came here by virtue of Thor.”

Which begs the question of how they even found out about Thor, or _why_ they came all the way here for him, but the unblinking stare Coulson gives him tells Bruce loud and clear that he’s not going to get an answer. Instead, Bruce says, “So... how do you plan on finding out if this is really your Tony? That is, if it’s even a priority for you.”

Head tilting down ever so slightly, Coulson says, “I- _We_ cannot leave until we ascertain whether or not he is indeed Anthony Edward Stark. Right now, I’m making him our top priority, especially so considering Thor doesn’t quite seem hostile.”

Bruce snorts, just as the weather cuts with a final wailing note and Tony’s voice comes on again, sounding like a pre-recorded message about the many dangerous sponsors funding them. “After a week here, you’ll think the Other Guy isn’t hostile.”

Coulson quirks an eyebrow at him, a polite disbelief, just as something explodes and Barton shrieks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! I was gone on vacation, but I'm back now! Also, just watched Thor 2, and huh. Not bad, not bad at all. (Obviously this story will have nothing to do with it considering it's barely even Thor 1, but it seemed like something of note to mention. Sorry.)

Old Woman Josie, like always, pulls Bruce in by his collar as he's passing by, sits him down in her living room, and chats his ear off for a good two hours before letting him go. It’s routine by now; the belying strength in her frail hands, the split second moment where the Other Guy perks up in search of danger, and the following second where the couch meets his ass and his eyes squint at the angels’ sheer brightness and the Other Guy huffs irritably and goes quiet.

Being in Night Vale has strangely enough been good on Bruce’s relationship with his angry counterpart. Mostly because the city forces him to realise a big, green, rage monster is the least of his concerns. Priorities, right?

Today though, today Coulson equally gets swept up with him, along with Barton – who always seems to be Coulson’s shadow, no matter where they go – and the two newcomers can’t stop staring at the higher life forms playing Texas Hold ‘Em on what looks to be a coffee table. Bruce by now has become desensitized to it all, so he greets Old Josie with weary fondness and lets her ply him with gingersnap cookies and ice tea made from something that tastes a bit coppery in a vaguely unsettling way.

She finishes talking about the latest developments between Erika and Erika – the two angels she’s sure have a thing for each other – and takes a sip of her own drink before settling it down on the perfectly placed coaster. “But enough about me,” she says sweetly, a smile pulling up her cheeks as her obsidian black eyes glint behind her glasses. “Tell me about _you_ , Bruce. I do say it’s about time you and Tony sorted yourselves out, oh my.”

Bruce flushes under her analytic gaze, suddenly aware of Coulson and Barton next to him, of the angels sitting around the coffee table putting their cards down and turning to face them – always eager for gossip. “Uh,” he stutters, pointedly not thinking about the first date they went on just two days ago and the kiss it had ended in. Nope, not thinking about it, because who knew whether angels could mind read or not, right? “Um, uh...”

Old Josie clucks her tongue once, half amused and half disappointed, and nostalgically says, “I remember that boy crashing into my backyard with that god-awful metal hoohaa all around him, oh yes I do.”

Coulson sits up straight, and for the first time since finding himself deposited on Old Josie’s sofa, says, “Crashing into your backyard? In a metal... armour, perhaps?”

Old Josie nods enthusiastically, happy to have someone join her in conversation, and replies, “Yes! It was all in bright colours and everything! I told that boy he better be getting up off his behind and fix my fence already, help an old woman out, and he did! Such a sweet boy, that Tony.”

Bruce – forcing himself to completely and utterly forget her previous comment and his own mortification – focuses on her words sharply, shares a look with Coulson while dimly noticing Barton silently gesturing at an angel and his cards, and turns back to Old Josie. “Was that the first time Tony came to Night Vale?”

“Of course,” Old Josie affirms, sipping at her tea. “He was an outsider, just like you lot, but he caught on quick, I must say. Probably helps that he got chosen for that mess with the library, poor lad.” She must see their confusion, specifically Bruce’s, because she makes a motherly noise in the back of her throat and says, “Oh, that’s right, before your time, the lot of you. It was maybe a month after he’d come, see, and he’d just been dragged back in from the desert by the Sheriff’s Secret Police since he was getting a bit too close to the border, and you’re not allowed near the border unless you have a licence, see, and the librarians – those vicious lot – they’d been getting quite rowdy recently anyway, especially after that summer reading hoohaa and that sweet girl Tamika annihilating them; it hurt their pride somewhat fierce. So instead, those librarians – wanting revenge, see – plucked a whole bunch of citizens from nowhere and kept them locked up in their library. Tony was one of them, poor boy, barely understood Night Vale and kept yammering on about some New York out there, in the world outside. Something about peppers too, and roads. It was all very crazy, brought on by the dehydration, see? He knows better now to keep fully hydrated, thankfully. So anyway, from what Steve Carlsburg said in his dying message right after breaking free from the library, Tony had gotten hit good and proper by the librarians, and it cured him up something fierce.”

“... Cured?” Bruce repeats, disbelief heavy in his voice.

“Of course,” Old Josie answers, looking confused at his reaction. “He was a ramblin’ man when he came, two straws short of an insane asylum, I say. I’d have led him to the hospital myself if he wasn’t such a darlin’ ‘round the house, _and_ because he said he was a scientist. Scientist’s always get a bit of leniency round here, y’know, ‘cuz their big ol’ brains take a bit o’ time to switch on to the Night Vale frequency, if you get what I mean.”

No, Bruce thinks in a daze, he really didn’t know what she means, but it certainly explains why he and Jane haven’t gotten brutally murdered already from the thousand and one obscure laws they unknowingly break every now and then. Like keeping mirrors covered. Jane _always_ forgets to keep the mirrors covered.

“If I’m understanding you correctly ma’am,” Coulson speaks into the silence, voice tight with something Bruce can’t quite parse out. “What you’re saying is that Stark went into the library claiming he had a home to return too, _trying_ to get back to that home, but came out... saying nothing?”

Old Woman Josie’s dark, beady eyes blink once, and suddenly the angels are _buzzing_ , a low vibration coming from all around the house, and Old Woman Josie’s face is dark and sombre and serious. And in a voice that shakes the very foundation of their bones, that makes Barton go pale and snatch his hand back from where he’d been going for one of the angel’s cards, she heavily intones, “Night Vale _is_ his home. There _are_ no other homes.”

Then she blinks, and suddenly it and the tension that came with it all disappear, and the angels settle down again and one of them scoots towards Barton and holds its deck of cards out to him, silently (and obviously) begging for help.

Bruce breathes in a huge amount of air, holds it once, twice, thrice, in his lungs, then slowly lets it whistle out of his nose on an exhale. He keeps at it, trying to lower his blood pressure, trying to calm his heart rate, trying to dispel the tight knot of fear that’s suddenly taken residence in his throat when Coulson had opened his goddamn mouth. He smiles tightly at Old Josie with a commiserating nod.

“Outsiders, huh?” He chokes out, forcing strained humour into his voice and taking all of Old Josie’s attention straight onto him. “I hope I wasn’t as bad as that when I first came.”

And with a kind smile and bright obsidian eyes, Old Josie chuckles into her ice tea and says, “Oh, dear, you were just _adorable_. A bit naive, sure, but you fit in better than we ever could’ve hoped for.”

He doesn’t miss the vaguely threatening undertone in her voice, wonders how he ever could’ve missed anything when it came to her, wonders with a growing sense of dread if maybe he’s Night Vale’s next victim, lined up to take a fall just like Tony Stark.

Because there’s no denying it now, no way to talk himself out of it or let Night Vale vomit out its usual excuses; the Tony brightly informing Night Vale of the many disasters and community events happening daily is most definitely the Tony Stark that owned Stark Industries, that made Iron Man.

He just doesn't remember it.

#

As soon as they’re out and far enough that they can’t see the angels (even though Bruce suspects that the angel can always see _them_ ), Bruce pulls out his phone and dials. Coulson and Barton are staring at him, watching him as Bruce mutters to himself, tries to coax the line to connect, for the phone on the other end to pick up, and they blink when he spits out a curse when the busy tone blares joyfully in his ear.

Fingers quick, Bruce punches in the number again, and hits dial.

This time, the phone clicks on the third ring.

_“Hello?”_

“Tony,” Bruce breathes out, ignoring the way Coulson leans towards him like a sunflower to the sun. “I need to talk to you. _Now_.”

“ _Much as I’d like to- to- to **talk** to you, Brucey, this really isn’t-_” a curse, low and barely audible. “ _-isn’t the time. I’m a bit busy right now.”_

Something sounds wrong with Tony’s voice, with Tony as a whole, something that has the fine hairs on the back of Bruce's neck standing to attention. He pinches the bridge of his nose, tries to keep calm with a few breathing exercises, ignores the way Coulson’s all but _buzzing_ at him, like those angels, the ones back at Old Woman Josie’s house, Old Woman Josie with her black eyes and no whites, with her legion of Heaven’s Warriors at her bidding, with her ominous words and what they could mean for Tony. Tony with his dark eyes and rogueish smile and absolutely no fear of Bruce or the monster within.

“Tony,” he says again, _begs_ really, because in the six months he’s been in Night Vale he’s gotten the closest feeling to romance _ever_ since Betty, and he doesn't want to lose it, not yet. Not when Tony seems to be everything and anything under the sun that Bruce cannot possibly deserve. “This is serious. Where are you? Can you come to the lab? Actually, I’ll come to you. Are you at the radio tower?”

Tony doesn’t respond immediately, but Bruce hears the phone being passed around, jostled a little, and a pained moan before the jostling suddenly stops and someone actually replies.

“ _Friend Bruce!”_ Thor’s voice booms into his ear, causing Bruce to flinch and Coulson to _finally_ move out of his personal space. “ _I am most saddened to inform you friend Tony cannot successfully court you at this moment! Perhaps tomorrow, my friend!”_

Coulson gives him a _look_ , one that just screams that he heard Thor’s particular phrasing, and already had more than enough evidence to _know_ what the whole town (plus Thor) seemed to already know. Bruce ignores him, because right now, at this moment, even embarrassment can’t touch the place where Old Woman Josie touched with her terrifying words.

“Thor, are you guys home? At Tony’s apartment?” He asks, forcing his voice to go calm and efficient.

 _“Aye!”_ Thor responds, not quite loud enough to cover up the groan that sounds worryingly like Tony. _“Friend Tony is having his usual aches of the head. Today is, however, much worse than the day before had been. I fear there is not much I can do to help him.”_

Headaches. Hadn’t Tony said something about that before? Specifically migraines?

 _"He is in much pain, friend Bruce,"_ Thor continues, suddenly quiet and serious. The change terrifies Bruce, drives the gravity of the situation - of _everything_ \- into his gut, because he’s never heard Thor speak like this in the month he’s been in town. The fear doesn't let up as Thor goes on to confess, _"I worry greatly for him."_

"Give me the address," Bruce replies, demands even, forcing himself to breathe slowly to calm the stirrings of the Other Guy. "I'll be there in five minutes."

Thor does, relaying the relevant information and giving helpful notes on what to avoid (like the streetlamps, who apparently feel insulted at the colour orange and feel they must regale any that walk beneath them of their perceived insult). Bruce hangs up on him soon after, and doesn't bother speaking to the agents before turning in the correct direction and walking.

It doesn't escape his notice that Tony lives right next door to the City Council, but he doesn't know if something like that actually _means_ anything or if he's just fishing for clues. Night Vale is so _frustrating_ like that, unstable in everything but its instability, and Bruce hates it when he can't be in control.

"You think the headaches mean something, don't you?" Coulson says, perfectly keeping in stride with Bruce's gait. Only an inch behind, Barton has his bow and arrow out, one of the sharp tipped projectiles already nocked and ready to launch.

"I don't know," Bruce answers truthfully, turning a corner and spotting a balaclava wearing figure. "Shit, we have to go around."

The agents follow him without question as they double back and go further down the street, turning from there onto a new street. Bruce wonders if it's because they're equally paranoid, or if they know paranoia's the only thing keeping him from Ross' examination table. And SHIELD's.

"I don't have a clue what's going on," he carries on, voice going a bit breathless as his target building looms into view. "But it's most likely bad."

"How bad, doc?" Barton asks, eyes darting everywhere and his muscles tense. "I don't like how there's no one else on these streets besides us. It's creepy."

It’s a valid concern, what with the fact that Night Vale isn't usually so... empty. But Bruce doesn't pay him any attention, instead slamming the building door open and pushing through. He doesn't even hesitate between the elevators and stairs, years of being on the run gravitating him towards the latter. He takes them three at a time, pushing onwards like an Olympic runner, and only stops on the third floor.

There's only one door on the entire floor.

"Sixty eight was the floor he lived on back in New York." Coulson says into the silence, standing to his right.

Bruce swallows thickly at the information, and stares at the door across the hall with the number sixty eight hammered into it.

"This is _so_ fuckin' creepy." Barton mutters under his breath.

Slowly, carefully, Bruce picks his words as he speaks them. "If... Old Woman Josie's right, and if what she said was indeed what I _think_ she said, then... that means... Tony was- _is_ \- being kept here against his will." He doesn't- he doesn't really know what he's saying, or where he's going with this, but something's just _wrong_ here. _Everything's_ wrong here. And thinking out loud sometimes helps him to find out _why_. "He landed here with his armour - probably by accident, maybe injured - then soon got caught up in the library where he _definitely_ got injured and, most likely, lost his memories. But- but-"

"But what, Dr Banner?" Coulson encourages him, intense pale eyes studying him with severity.

"But they _kept him here_. Before he lost his memories. Old Josie said they kept dragging him back from the border, meaning he kept _going_ to the border, to what? To maybe _escape_?"

Bruce looks up at that, at Coulson, and to his surprise sees something like fond exasperation on the agent's face. "Mr Stark is definitely passionate about escape," he says agreeably, like he's confirming something. Barton doesn't look like he understands either, so Bruce doesn't take it personally but instead pushes through, feeling that eureka moment science is all about just inches away from his grasp.

"What's to say they'll let him go if we succeed? If we get Tony's memories back." He says, arguing despite the fact that no one’s opposing him. "How are we supposed to even _get_ his memories back? And why would they keep him here in the first place, what do they benefit from by keeping him here?"

"We don't." Coulson answers the first question seriously. "His memories aren't the priority here, we can work on that after we've gotten him to safety. Right now, we find him and see if he's alright, and then we go from there. That woman said he'd been talking about New York, about Pepper - Ms. Virginia Potts, his personal assistant who he made CEO in his will - and Rhodes - Colonel James Rhodes, his best friend. That means it's him, a hundred percent, and so we're pulling him out of here and taking him home."

Bruce doesn't like that idea - he doesn't like that idea at all - but he doesn't have anything better. Grabbing Tony and running seems like the best bet, but the complications that could arise from Tony being pulled away from Night Vale could be catastrophic. Who knows what would happen? For all Bruce knows, Night Vale could be keeping Tony alive.

That'd be ironic, considering how hard this city tries to kill people.

Barton takes point, weapon raised, and Bruce trails after him and Coulson, warily watching the walls and the ground beneath his feet. He dimly remembers Tony mentioning something about an organism living in his carpet, but he's not sure if it lives in the _building_ as a whole or just Tony's apartment.

He's not sure which he'd prefer.

Finally reaching the end of the hallway, Coulson rasps his knuckles against the door three times, looking unflappable in his suit and tie.

The door swings open to a shirtless Thor.

"Ah! Friends!" Thor greets them, ushering them into the house and shutting the door behind them. "I'd begun to worry for your health! You took your time arriving!"

"Right, sorry Thor." Bruce apologises, toeing off his shoes when he notices Thor's bare feet. "How's Tony doing?"

Thor waves them in, confidently leading them to a large, comfortable, living room with an incredibly soft looking sofa in it, and gestures them to sit. Bruce does, followed by Coulson and then hesitantly Barton, and Thor disappears into another room before coming back out with a tray filled with three cups of steaming liquid.

"Tea!" Thor declares, placing the tray on a low table in front of them with deceptively gentle hands. "Perhaps I can persuade you into coming to see for yourself, friend Bruce. I have been informed that you are this realm's equivalent of a healer."

Bruce blinks and shakes his head, even as he pushes himself up to his feet and gestures at Coulson (and by extension, Barton) to stay. "I'm not that kind of doctor, but I'd like to see Tony anyway."

Thor nods, pleased with the answer, and leads the way in another direction. Bruce follows, and as they enter a dark room, he belatedly realises Tony must've been camping out in bed. Bruce is in _Tony's bedroom_ , without his express consent, and even worse, during such a vulnerable time like this!

Completely unbothered by Bruce's inner moral dilemma, Thor walks straight in and makes a beeline towards the dark lump in the _huge_ bed, sits beside it and places a hand on it.

The lump groans.

Hesitantly, slightly dubious of his welcome, Bruce inches closer until he's standing right next to Thor, staring down at the mountain of blankets obscuring the face of the community radio host.

Bruce wants to see that face again. He wants to see that roguish grin, those clever brown eyes like molten lava, that iconic goatee and bed of dark, messy hair.

Bruce wants to kiss those lips again, just one more time, and curses himself for not having done so earlier, when everything was (arguably) peaceful.

"Hey Tony," he greets quietly, mindful of the headache Tony's experiencing. "How're you doing?"

A groan answers him, but not even a moment afterwards a head peeks out of the mountain blankets and dark, pain-glazed eyes blearily blink up at him. "Bwuce?"

Thor chuckles low, large hand rubbing circles onto what must be Tony's back. Bruce feels his own lips quirk upwards at his name, something tight pulling in his chest as he bends down until he's eye level with Tony's face. "Hi," he greets again, eyes soft. "Headache? Migraine? From one to ten? With ten the worst?"

Tony licks his dry lips, squeezes his eyes shut and groans, riding out the pain before opening them back up again. "Eight...?" He answers hesitantly, almost dubiously. "You... here alone?"

"No," says Bruce. "I'm here with Agent Coulson and Agent Barton."

"Agent Agent," Tony whispers, before suddenly doubling over and gripping his head, pained grunts spilling from his mouth.

Bruce panics, feels it stow away inside him and transform into a tunnel-vision of pure focus that he’s conditioned himself into after gaining the Other Guy, and quietly demands, "Tony? Tony, how bad is it now? From one to ten, with ten being the worst."

He gets his hands on Tony, _needing_ to do something, wishing he could suck away the pain like the actual doctors in Night Vale General Hospital could do when they forcibly liberated you from your gall bladder. Thor's beside him, standing now, a tall anxious presence as Bruce puts a finger to Tony's pulse points and hushes him with meaningless platitudes.

"T-twenty." Tony gasps out, breath coming in too fast to actual be of use. "Oh god, it _hurts_. Bruce. _Pepper._ "

He'd never heard that name before, not before Coulson had mentioned it, never even knew that it _was_ a name, but that's not what really grabs his attention. Tony called for him, for _Bruce_ , and screw the world if that doesn't make Bruce want to help him with everything he's capable off.

He grabs Tony's right hand, coaxes it away from his head and hands it to Thor, instructs the god to pinch at the base between thumb and index finger. He himself runs his hands through Tony's hair, massaging his scalp, noting the silkiness of his hair which usually always looks rough, and presses knowing fingers into the tense muscles of his neck.

"Guess SHIELD gives you a headache, huh?" He says conversationally, remembering how Tony had equally gotten a headache when Bruce had told him of their identity back when Thor had first arrived. "I can't blame you, considering they give me one too."

Thor frowns at that, turning to look at him with dark blue eyes. "Why should this... group, give friend Tony and yourself headaches?"

"It's..." Bruce pauses, not quite sure how to explain the situation to Thor, Thor who probably doesn't know anything about the world _besides_ Night Vale, and instead settles on, "It's a long story. How about we make Tony comfortable here and then go out and let him sleep?"

Thor eyes him suspiciously, looking upset and far too protective off Tony, but grumpily nods to show his acceptance of the terms.

Breathing out in relief, Bruce continues massaging the stiff muscles caused from continued tensing, and asks, "Are there any painkillers here?"

"D-don't work," Tony gasps out, wrapping a clammy hand around Bruce's wrist, just for something to hold on to. "They never work."

Bruce sighs, not surprised in the least to hear that, and asks, "What's your stance on getting knocked out?"

Tony groans in pain, squeezing Bruce's wrist sporadically, and begs, "Yes, _please_."

Under Thor's watchful gaze, Bruce strokes the back of Tony's neck, using his other hand to run through his sweat soaked hair. Quickly and professionally, he presses down on the bundles of nerves he knows are there - the ones that technically shouldn't be, but airborne insects inject it into all residents of Night Vale as soon as they arrive, so whatever. Tony immediately slumps like his strings have been cut, his grasp on Bruce's wrist going slack and dropping down to the bed. But he's breathing in nice and slow now, and his face has gone slack with relief.

Beside him, peering down at Tony's slumbering form, Thor curiously says, "You Midgardians are far more fascinating than I'd been led to believe."

It sounds like a compliment, but for some reason, Bruce has the gut feeling that he's just been insulted. He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales wearily, and shakes his head at himself, because getting offended on the behalf of what he thinks Thor means humanity seems stupid. Especially when it's Night Vale Thor finds interesting, and that the rest of the world will probably end up being utterly boring when he finds out about them because of it.

"Come on," Bruce says, finally dislodging his hands from Tony. "Let's go back to the living room and give Tony some time to sleep."

Thor follows after him, quietly pulling the door almost shut, but leaving just a slither open. Bruce doesn't question it, deciding to trust Thor to understand Tony more than Bruce, because Thor's been living with Tony for a while now, and Bruce hasn't even gathered the courage to ask Tony out for lunch yet.

Together, they make their way back to the living room where Barton and Coulson are seemingly discussing something. They pause when Thor and Bruce walk in, and Coulson asks, "How is he?"

If Bruce didn't know better, he'd think the agent sounded _concerned_. "He's asleep for now. But I don't envy him."

"Do these... headaches... come often?" The agent asks, pale fingers clasped together.

"Migraines," Bruce corrects, just as Thor says, "Indeed, most days since my arrival I have witnessed it. They have, however, been getting progressively worse."

That's new, but it fits with what Thor said on the phone. Coulson has a shrewd look about it, and it gets even more shrewder when Bruce reluctantly adds, "He said Pepper."

"He's remembering," the agent announces, shrewd expression turning to quiet hopefulness. "Something's holding him back, stopping him from fully remembering. It's the only explanation."

Bruce shakes his head, ignoring the little voice in his head that reminds him of the correlation between amnesiacs and headaches. He doesn't know enough about it to make an educated guess - he's never had to deal with memory loss in the rural areas of South East Asia before - but he's pretty sure this can't be _that_ simple. Nothing is that simple for Bruce.

Thor sits down on a couch, reclining into it like the prince he claims to be, and suspiciously says, "I believe there is much here that I am unaware off. Tell me."

It's an order, not a suggestion.

Bruce eyes the way Coulson suddenly goes stiff, notes the way Barton's expression goes blank, and doesn't miss Thor moving to rest his forearms on his knees, a move that makes him look like a lounging lion pretending at being lazy. He doesn't like the sudden spike in tension, and he definitely doesn't like the way the Other Guy stirs, rustled out of his deep sleep by the heavy scent of apprehension in the air.

"Stop," he orders them all, Coulson and Thor and Barton, even the Other Guy, as his fingers dig into the meat of his thighs. "You know I hate conflict."

The words are directed at Coulson, at Barton even, who both immediately drop their tense shoulders and adopt a forced look of relaxation. Thor calms down as soon as they do, much more wary and suspicious now because of the abrupt change in their body language, and turns to Bruce. "Friend Bruce, whatever secrets you have are beginning to make me most alarmed."

Nodding, Bruce ignores the sharp look Coulson gives him in warning, and tells Thor everything about Anthony Edward Stark, and why they think he's currently in a darkened bedroom knocked out cold. Thor takes it all in, quiet and sombre, and then, to their surprise, rubs a hand across the golden stubble on his jaw and heaves a heavy sigh.

"I had hoped to no longer be plagued by such secrets of identity." He says sadly. "It would seem the fates wish me still to learn more."

"What do you mean?" Bruce asks carefully, surprised at the sheer exhaustion wafting from Thor's heavy shoulders.

"There is a reason I am here, on Midgard, as opposed to in my own realm back home. My father, the Allfather, rightfully believed me to be too naïve and narrow-minded to take the crown and become king, and so exiled me here to learn and grow. I would know that I had achieved his goals when Mjolnir once more came to stand by my side, ready for battle, as she had done when I first met your counterpart, friend Bruce. Yet Heimdell, the gate keeper, keeps his gate closed to me, and I know not what is left for me to do to return home."

"There must still be something you need to learn then, perhaps something you need to do," Bruce suggests not unkindly, eyes trailing over the hammer he's been ignoring for the most part. It sits almost innocently on the kitchen counter, next to a container of sugar and a box of blueberries. "We could use your help, in getting Tony out of here. Besides, you have to know Night Vale isn't... _really_ Midgard, right? Night Vale is an anomaly amongst even us, one that hopefully won't ever be found anywhere else. The world is much, _much_ , different."

"Of course," Thor nods his head. "Friend Tony says as much during these... painful periods. He has told me much of his home in the York of New, of his mistress, Lady Pepper, and his child Jarvis. I thought it most peculiar when he would later seemingly forget of ever telling me such things after his headache had resolved."

Bruce goes very, very still at the word 'mistress', and even more at the word ' _child'_. On the sofa, Coulson gives him a long, knowing look before pointedly clearing his throat. "Then we all know and understand what the situation here is. Mr. Stark would not want to be kept prisoner here; he had - _has_ \- much to do back home, so we need to get him out."

"And how exactly are we gonna do that?" Barton drawls, sharp, keen eyes still darting around the apartment, keeping everything in sight. "The only people in this room that came to this freaking town _knowingly_ are the docs; 'cuz I sure as hell wouldn't be here if I knew an invisible, silent woman in your home was an actual possibility. Maybe big green can smash us a way out, that'd be cool."

Coulson gives Barton a sharp disapproving glare. "I'm sure we can come up with a suitable plan of action."

"Friend Tony can be of much help," Thor suggests. "However, having him aid you in his usual state of mind - that is, free of these aches - will be most difficult, as he will not want to leave due to knowing nothing but this city as his home."

"We'll just have to make do, then." Coulson shrugs, seemingly unbothered by the notion of abducting someone and hightailing it out of the city with them. _SHIELD_ , Bruce thinks with a flare of disgust, and right when he was starting to vaguely like Coulson. Hell, even Barton.

Speaking of which, "By the way, where is... Agent Romanov...?"

Barton doesn't seem particularly pleased with Bruce asking that, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, Coulson calmly answers, "With Dr Foster. We thought it prudent not to leave her alone." Meaning _he_ thought it prudent and Romanov was probably just following orders.

"Why," a voice croaks from the doorway, startling them all. "Do you expect trouble, Agent?"

Bruce immediately pushes himself up to his feet, Thor a step behind him, and turns just in time for Tony to shuffle into the living room with a heavy blanket wrapped around him like a burrito.

"Friend Tony!" Thor booms, wincing in apology as Tony recoils from the volumes. "You should not be out of bed, my friend!"

Tony moves in closer, hand stretching out to rest against a sofa, and gives a pained grin. "So you can keep your little clandestine meeting to yourself, big guy? Who are your little friends here? Well, except for Agent Agent, can't say I'll ever forget that dangerously average get up of his."

Coulson blinks, surprise clear on his face as he says, "You remember me?"

Squinting, Tony raises the hand on the sofa up to his eyes, covering them with a pained groan. "Yeah, and it's killing me to carry on doing so." His fingers part, showing a sliver of dark, intelligent eyes, eyes that linger on Bruce thoughtfully for a moment. "You look familiar... Oh, you were the one that knocked me out. Thanks for that, by the way. Didn't catch your name though."

Thor grimaces at Bruce's alarmed confusion, quickly moving Tony into his own seat when the man starts swaying, and starts explaining. "During these painful moments, I have noticed that he forgets all that he knows of Night Vale, including what had happened that very day, but tends to remember his time before this city, which he does not when the aches recede."

"Basically, the last thing I properly remember was the goddamn library," Tony shudders, curling into his blanket some more. "And waking up here, or some other place, with my head killing me and nothing making sense. I keep waking up with my head killing me and nothing making sense, all the freaking time."

"So... You're Tony Stark during your headaches, and only remember Tony Stark. But when you _don't_ have headaches, you're the Tony that does the radio thing and says _cool_ , and you remember nothing about being Tony Stark." Barton summarises, face almost comically insulted. "Seriously, what the _hell_. Creepiest fuckin' town on _Earth_."

Pulling a face at that, Tony scrubs a hand across his face, blinking in that way people dead on their feet do, and shrugs. "Maybe? Thor would know, I guess, since..." He pauses, seemingly searching for something in his head. "He's been staying with me, I guess?" He finally says, sounding uncertain himself. "He tries to catch me up on what I... On what the _other_ me, whatever, does. I don't really know anything? It's... hard to think? Hurts... to..." Tony trails off, and his head drops down to his chest once before snapping back up. "Can't... Can't remember, much...I'm... confused..."

Again, his head drops down to his chest, and snaps back up even faster than before. He stares at them, panic suddenly dawning in his eyes, and quickly pushes out, "It's happening- shit, it's happening again. I'm going to fall asleep soon and- and-," his eyes go hazy, unfocused, and on the sofa Coulson sharply barks, "Stark!" with a small hint of his own growing panic, and Tony's chocolate brown eyes clear up and he carries on speaking like he never stopped in the first place, "-and I'll forget everything again!"

Thor stands behind Tony, a looming golden guardian, and places large hands on Tony's shoulders, on top of the blankets. "Hear me and remember this in your inevitable slumber, friend," he says heavily, voice and expression grave but heartfelt. "We _shall_ cure you of this curse, no matter how impossible it may seem. You are not alone now, friend. I swear it on my father's name."

Swallowing thickly, Bruce watches, heart breaking, as the proudest man the world has ever seen huddles into himself, seeking safety with a panicked, broken expression that says he knows he won't find it, and with a crack in his voice pleads, " _Phil_."

And Agent Philip Coulson lurches towards him, an aborted move that's half forward and upwards, and with a tight face but a soothing, confident voice, answers, "We'll figure it out, Stark. And afterwards, you're buying me this season's Super Nanny on DVD."

"I'll buy you... I'll buy yo... all..."

Tony's head drops and his eyes close, and soon Bruce hears the soft, even breathing of the truly asleep.

"He has fallen," Thor states, confirming it. "I shall take him to his room."

With that, the alien prince reaches down and scoops Tony up into his arms - blankets and all - and strides off towards the bedroom. Bruce notices Coulson staring after them, something like pain on his face, but he doesn't say anything, just returns to his seat like nothing happened.

It's obvious he has more of a relationship with Tony besides the trying to recruit him thing he mentioned before. Although, believing someone dead for two years _can_ change any memory into a good one, even amongst enemies.

Thor comes back not a second later, seating himself on the couch with a world weary sigh. "It pains me to see someone that has accepted me into his home, someone that cares for me in a most admirable manner, in pain." Looking up, he fixes all three of them with keen blue eyes. "I shall aid you however I can, for friend Tony has aided me in my time of need. But if I find that it is _you_ causing him this pain, then know that I will visit upon you the full might of Mjolnir and unleash horrors you have never dreamed off upon you."

"That..." Coulson trails off…

… So Bruce finishes for him. "That's fine. That's more than fine. Thank you, Thor."

Thor smiles, the heavy mood dissipating with his expression. "You are most welcomed."

#

When Tony wakes up next, bleary eyed and yawning, he stumbles into the living room to find them all bent around the coffee table.

"What the..." He starts, surprise on his face as they all snap to attention. "Whoa, calm down there fellas, just didn't expect to see you here."

Bruce straightens up, putting a hand to his aching back, and smiles at Tony. "How're you feeling?" He asks, but then a thought hits him. "Do you... Do you remember me?"

Tony pulls an adorably confused face at him. "'Course I remember you, Bruce! Though, I'm a bit surprised to see you here. Uhhh, you want, I don't know, tea?"

"That- that would be great, Tony." Bruce sighs in relief. "That’d be really nice."

"Suuuure," Tony says slowly, cocking an eyebrow at Coulson and Barton. "I feel like I should be asking what the hell suits like you two are doing in my home-" a wince, Tony rubs at his head, "-but my instincts tell me you guys do that a lot, so, whatever. No tea for you, Agent Agent-" another wince, "-Biceps."

" _Barton_ ," Barton corrects under his breath, but no one pays any attention to him.

"Do you remember how we first met, Mr. Stark?" Coulson asks casually.

Tony gives him a weird look. "Yeeeaaah," he says slowly again, "You kidnapped me from my recording booth, which, shit, reminds me I'm almost late for tonight's show!"

"Forget the show," Barton pipes up, lazy grin on his face instead of the previous expression of being perpetually creeped out. "Let's hang out and watch the game or something. Have a guy night, pop a few beers, yeah?"

"Are you insane?" Tony scoffs. "And leave the city of Night Vale without their community updates? Hell no, I got me a job to do, Biceps, one an outsider like you just wouldn't understand."

He turns and disappears into a hallway, tea forgotten, leaving the four of them behind to give each other meaningful looks.

Thor had been right when he’d said getting Tony to leave in this state would be impossible, meaning Coulson's plan of forceful exit would have to be their best, and only, bet.

#

_"Bzzt- oh good, this old crap's still working. Listeners! You wouldn't believe what I woke up to this morning! Bruce was in my house! And he made me this **amazing** coffee and asked me out on a date! A date!_

_Thor let him in, though I'm not sure how exactly Bruce found out my address, and two of the three agents still hanging around town were also there; in my living room, that is. It was really weird, and unexpected, but whatever, it all ended pretty damn awesomely, so who even cares?_

_Anyway, guys, Carla, the cashier down at the Green Market Co Op, wishes me to tell you that they have a sale on imaginary corn! It's cheaper than usual, but I don't know how much since I wasn't paying attention, but hey, cheaper is good, right? Cheaper is great! So go down to the Green Market Co Op and buy the farmer's imaginary corn!_

_In other news, I've been getting weird texts from some lady listed on my phone as Dana, and I can never reply because my phone starts oozing this stinky ass purple shit that's impossibly to clean. If anyone of you listeners are called Dana, and are waiting for a reply to your texts, that's why. Also, wrong number. Probably._

_And now, a word from our sponsors!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes: Old Woman Josie's changing accent (if you noticed) is on purpose. The difference between a headache and a migraine is that in the latter, you get all sorts of fun stuff, like sensitivity to light and sounds, fever (rare), auras (also rare), and feeling like a terrible shit in general but x9000 more than in headaches. Plus others. Basically. It's delightful. Titles like Dr having a full stop next to it is subject to what type of English you're writing. Considering that for the most part I'm using British English, I'll stick to British English's rules in that nope, no full stop for titles like Dr or Mr or all the others out there. Also, Dana! That's right. _Dana._ *ominous soundtrack begins* Until next week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, just spent what felt like an eternity figuring out how to change fonts on this thing. I swear on me mam, if this doesn't work- *shakes fist angrily* EDIT: it didn't work!! (/gross sobbing) EDIT EDIT: I totally made it work! Praise me! (/puffs up of chest)
> 
> In other news, more plot. Also, another inserted song. My fav song _ever_.

_"Aaaaaand we're back! Right, so first off, the third of the three remaining agents is, uh, here with me right now. She's staring at me. She doesn't blink much. And apparently she speaks Russian!_

_Oh, no, she can speak English, don't get me wrong, she keeps telling me how she'll shut me up if I ask her one more question in excessively imaginative yet violently painful ways. She can speak English pretty good, but Russian's her mother tongue. She's Russian!_

_Intern Chad tells me Russians are racists who need to stay away from Native American magicks, but I'm not sure what the hell he means by that, plus he's a pale-ass little shit and I'm not going to even do the whole 'to the parents of' blah blah blah spiel when he dies. I'm not. I don't care what company policy says._

_By the way guys, what do you do if you wake up on the border of town, towards the abandoned mine shafts, with a god of thunder vomiting the entire contents of his stomach out beside you? Also, with the scientist lady he’s dating, because that’s what they’re doing – dating. It’s adorable. But yeah, that’s what happened this morning. Totally weird. And Bruce was in the actual mine shafts, equally looking ill, but curious about what they were for. So I told him! He seemed horrified at the information, no doubt at the fact that the so called ‘free’ wi-fi the prisoners should’ve been getting was being charged at a rate of a limb per day! I totally share his horror in that. Free wi-fi should be free, for **everyone** , don’t you agree, Night Vale?_

_Besides that, I'm **still** getting texts from Dana, except now it says **Intern** Dana on my phone, and not just Dana. I've never had an intern called Dana here before, I'm sure of it, so maybe she's one of the previous interns. Except... Wouldn't she have been dead? What, with, y'know, how all the interns die around here?_

_Maybe Agent Scary Spice can be useful and go to the basement where all the records are, bring them up maybe._

_... What?_

_... You'll do what to my entrails?_

_... Darling, you wouldn't happen to be part arachnoid, would you? Because that's mighty spider-ish of you._

_Aaaaaand she's left. Hopefully to the basement. Wow, she seemed a bit irritated by my question, jeez. Anyway, until she comes back, how about traffic reports!"_

#

_"... Listeners... **Listeners**. It turns out Dana, Intern Dana, really **does** exist._

_Better yet, it turns out she never technically **died**. Her facebook status - which is what we all use to clearly state if we're alive, dead, angry, or somewhere in between - says she's... in the basement._

_Oh! She just updated her status! It says;_ Really hot red headed lady was just here. I said hi. She didn't answer. :(

_Rude. But from the suddenly tense shoulders and the slight flickering of surprise on Agent Scary's face, I'm guessing she didn't actually notice her. A bit understandable, considering a few statuses back says Dana apparently went into the Dog Park, and escaped into a realm that isn't exactly ours._

_Strange. The date next to her entering the Dog Park says... two years ago. She escaped a year later, apparently, but... the Dog Park was just built a few months ago._

_Maybe she's a licensed time traveller. That sounds 'bout right. At least now I know who the person that keeps texting me is. If you can somehow hear me wherever you are, Dana, hi! I'm Tony._

_And with that, let's go onwards to my favourite portion of this whole damn jig. The weather!"_

#

"Natasha called," Coulson greets him as he walks into the lab. "She's curious about the community radio here."

Looking up from where he's squirrelling away some highly contraband poptarts (Thor has somehow become the town dealer, with Tony's help), Bruce squints up at Coulson and says, "What about, exactly?"

Coulson takes a seat beside a table full of opened clocks - Jane's continuing war against the sun and time, as a whole - the pieces desperately struggling to get back to each other, straining against the strips of cotton Jane used to keep them apart. "The history. Specifically who was the host before Stark."

Bruce _really_ looks up at that, and with his brain slowly chugging into gear, asks, "This has something to do with the intern Tony was talking about on the radio, right?"

Coulson nods. "Natasha says she saw no one in the basement when she went down to get the files Stark asked for. The file also states that the intern was before Stark's time, which begs the question, who did she intern for?"

"You do realise this could just be Night Vale, right?" Bruce asks sceptically, pushing himself up to his feet from the floor by the fake vent. "Time travellers are an actual thing here. Licensed and everything."

Coulson's face says that he _didn’t_ realise this could just be a Night Vale thing, and that he definitely didn't know about the time travellers. He sighs. "It's still as good as any a lead to pursue. We could gain valuable information from whoever the previous host was. Specifically, if he, or she, is still alive or not. We don’t have much else to do considering our escape last night was a complete and utter failure."

Wincing, Bruce tries hard not to remember the pathetic image they’d made; Thor carrying a sleeping Tony, Jane, Bruce and Barton carrying their equipment, and all of them trying to leave. It had gone well for an hour or two, except then they’d realised they were somehow walking in circles, and after that, Thor and Coulson had taken point and used the stars to try and navigate, except the stars would spell out slurs and rude comments about Barton’s backside and weren’t helpful in the least in getting them out of there. And finally, as if that wasn’t bad enough, when Romanov had finally taken point with an irritable huff, they’d made process, only to bit by bit become sicker and sicker as the city became smaller and smaller behind them, and one by one they’d lagged behind until all that was left was Thor vomiting his heart out on an unsuspecting cactus and Bruce – equally sick if not better at holding it back – noticing a cave and finding out soon after – when the sun was well and truly up and Tony woke up yawning – that it was a prison where innocents would get tortured. _Were_ getting tortured.

Bruce can’t say he’s surprised, because he’s really, really not.

Noticing Coulson staring at him, no doubt waiting for a reply, Bruce sceptically nods. "You want me to call Tony and ask him to check, don't you?"

Coulson doesn't even have the good graces to look embarrassed at being so transparent. "Yes. For some reason, he's not as paranoid as the Stark I remember, though he does seem to dislike us greatly. If _you_ were to ask for it, he'd do it without even questioning why."

"Not sure about that," Bruce frowns, pulling out his phone anyway. "But we'll see."

He presses in Tony's number, half an ear on the [upbeat Spanish song](https://soundcloud.com/electronicswingorchestra/quiero-bailar-swing) playing on the radio, something that oddly reminds him of swing music. The phone dials, and as it dials, Bruce curiously says, "Wouldn't it be better if we found out ourselves? Just in case it _does_ turn out to be useful info? We should assume the whole city's in on whatever they're doing in keeping Tony here. And Tony has more of a reason to trust them than he does us."

The phone clicks and connects as Coulson nods in agreement. "Perhaps it'd be a conversation better suited for your date, then."

And with that, he leaves.

_"Bruce! Don't worry about the weather, firestorms are normal this time of year. How are you?"_

Bruce snaps his mouth shut, gritting his teeth as the door closes shut behind the agent. What the hell is he supposed to say to Tony now? "I- I'm fine. Great. How are you?"

Great job, Banner. Real smooth.

Tony chirps back a response at him, seemingly not bothered about Bruce's pathetic socialising skills. Something about his generally upbeat and positive attitude - what attracted Bruce to him in the first place - _bothers_ Bruce now. After seeing what the real Tony Stark was like - cynical, beaten down, and _exhausted_ \- this Tony, this... Night Vale Tony...

It makes Bruce feel like he's taking advantage of him. Of the _real_ him. Because the real him never asked for this, because the real him probably wouldn't want anything to do with a monster like Bruce.

Bruce should just do the right thing and leave this thing between them, this... whatever it is, here. He should break it off, he knows he should, because Tony- no, _Stark_ \- already has someone back home, someone he's been forcibly kept away from for two years. Sure, Tony had called for him, when he'd been in the midst of a migraine, but he'd called for _her_ first.

Pepper. Virginia Potts. Current CEO of Stark Industries.

"Just calling to remind you about our, our, uh, date. Seven pm, tonight. I'll come pick you up?"

_"Yeah! Cool. I'll be waiting for you. Gotta go now though, the weather's finishing up. Seriously, don't worry about those firestorms, or the thunderbirds coming afterwards. The first is normal, and the second is going to get a warm welcome from Thor. They won't be terrorising our children for long! See ya at seven, Bruce!"_

The phone line goes dead.

Bruce sighs, and drops the phone.

After, he thinks to himself. After they get Tony out, then he'll end it.

But until then, he has a dinner date to get ready for.

#

He meets with the others the very next day, tired and exhausted from a night spent tossing and turning.

Thor's seated on the single most comfortable couch in the lab, Jane blushing a fire engine red from her seat on his lap, and the agents are scattered around at strategic positions.

On the radio, Tony's describing the inner workings of a scorpion, except it sounds more like he's reciting stand up erotica with what he's actually saying and _how_ he's saying them.

Maybe Jane's red cheeks aren't entirely due to Thor.

"Whoo-wee," Barton says, eyes slightly glassy in awe. "Stark's got a freaking mouth on him, Jesus."

"Rethinking your placement on the Kinsey scale, Barton?" Coulson asks casually, unbothered by the fervent denials Barton immediately shoots back.

Romanov says something that gets Barton's face flushing red, but Bruce for some reason misses it completely.

"How'd your date go, Bruce?" Jane asks, grinning over at him mischievously. "Come on, spill."

Bruce rolls his eyes and says, "What? Tony didn't tell the whole town by now?"

"No," Jane answers, nodding at his surprised face. "He just said it was great, and then went on to talk about something else."

"Did you ask him about what we'd talked about, Dr Banner?" Says Coulson. They've already filled Jane in on what was going on, and specifically on what they'd decided to do. She's all for it, mostly because she'd been begging Bruce to drop Night Vale and just _leave_ anyway right before Thor had literally dropped in from the sky.

Bruce nods, sitting down on his own, incredibly uncomfortable, chair. "Tony didn't know much - it never even crossed his mind, from what I can tell - but he became curious about it, so we went to the radio tower after dinner and checked the files in the basement. We found some more interns - all dead - and mentions of things that don't actually exist yet, or are just out of time. But no mentions of the previous host."

Coulson rubs a hand across his chin, disappointed with the news. "What are the chances-"

The radio crackles, Tony's voice disappearing, and suddenly another voice speaks. A woman, sounding angry, oh so angry, hissing through the airwaves and straight into their ears;

_"You will pay for this, Hiram McDaniels. You. Will. **Pay.** "_

Then the radio crackles again, goes quiet for a good long moment, before Tony clears his throat pointedly and bitches about the Faceless Old Woman That Secretly Lives In Your Home hijacking his radio show.

Bruce shivers, forcing himself to listen to Tony's casually irritated voice, to the lack of fear in them, to believe that nothing truly terrifying had actually just happened.

Somewhere, behind them, the sound of nails on a blackboard screeches around them.

Romanov, with a tight expression, storms out of the room, and after a nod from Coulson, Barton goes after her.

"Indeed," Thor says into the ensuing silence. "This shall be a mighty challenge to rise victorious from."

#

_"News coming in from Old Woman Josie's house! Agent Scary and Biceps are apparently interrogating the angels! I don't know what they're asking for, but from what my sources tell me, they'll probably get it soon enough._

_Who knew angels squealed so easily?_

_Meanwhile, a pack of feral dogs are roaming the streets. They have already killed intern Chad, which, frankly, makes me slightly less worried about these dogs and more thankful. But be careful anyway, people, and stay in your homes._

_Also, Dana's texts are slowly but surely starting to make sense! She keeps asking me how someone's doing. Someone called Car. Can’t really make it out since my phone keeps serenading me whenever I so much as even **think** of checking new texts, but I’m sure the name is Car. I've never met anyone called Car, so seriously, wrong number. You hear that, Dana? Wrong. Number._

_In other news..."_

#

"We have news."

Jane and Bruce look up from the broken mess of a robotic tarantula they found scoping out their bedrooms. They think it belongs to the Sheriff's Secret Police, but they're not sure.

"What news?" Jane asks, eyebrows pulling down in confusion.

Coulson walks in like he owns the place, his agents trailing behind him, and they take their spots around the living room. "About the radio tower, and specifically about this city before Stark arrived."

Wiping his hands on a slightly dirty rag, Bruce adjusts his glasses and hums for Coulson to go on, distantly wondering where Thor is.

"The angels informed Natasha and Clint that there's a city-wide ban on talking about, or even acknowledging, the previous radio host. Specifically that he went missing soon after the current Mayor came into power two years ago."

"Hiram McDaniels," Bruce murmurs, nodding his head to show that he's still following.

Coulson nods. "They say the city fell into chaos in the three months that they had no 'voice'-"

 _Voice,_ Romanov corrects, though Bruce doesn't understand exactly what she's correcting, nor does he actually hear her voice. He only knows that she even spoke from her lips moving, and because he can read lips.

Coulson frowns at her for a moment, listens as she says something else Bruce - again - doesn't catch, and nods. "The Voice of Night Vale, apparently." He says, and it's obvious he, and Barton from the looks of it, heard whatever it was Romanov had said and didn't realise that the rest of them hadn't. "But then Stark came, with his Voice, and with it the city restarted itself."

"Restarted itself?"

Coulson nods at Jane. "Yes, restarted itself. Though what they meant by that we don't know."

Frowning in thought, Bruce runs a hand through his hair and bites his bottom lip. “It does explain why they want to keep Tony with them though, if his voice or whatever keeps them out of chaos.”

Romanov says something, a single movement of her bright red lips, and Coulson nods while Barton rolls his eyes.

“You know,” Jane speaks up, glancing at Bruce with wide, thoughtful eyes. “I don't know if it's just me or whatever, but I can't actually hear anything she says.”

Oh, so it's not only Bruce that suddenly goes deaf whenever the female agent says something. “I can't either,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders a little.

Romanov's frowning at them, perfect eyebrows drawn together as Coulson equally pulls a face beside her. But before either of them can say anything, the door swings open, slamming against the wall, and Tony comes bursting in like there are hellhounds chasing him.

They could be, for all Bruce knows, but the fact that Tony doesn't shoulder the door shut behind him tells him that they probably aren't.

“Oh good, I found you,” the genius says, swaying slightly where he stands, face scrunched up in pain. He brandishes his phone at them all, the small screen lit up but too far away from any of them to see, and with a voice promising dire consequences, Tony declares, “Carlos!” and promptly drops to the floor and doesn't get back up.

Not a second after, Thor comes rushing in, panting, demanding where Tony is, before spotting him on the floor and going limp with relief and heaving a heavy sigh. “Apologies, my friends,” Thor greets them more calmly, bending down and picking Tony up like a sack of rice. “He seemed most intent in finding you and telling you something. Did he...?”

Bruce steps forwards as Thor gently deposits Tony on the only comfortable couch in the lab, and puts a hand to the latter's forehead as Barton answers. “Yeah,” the agent snorts, not amused. “He said Carlos, whoever the hell that's supposed to be.”

“Ah yes,” Thor says, nodding in recognition. “Carlos the scientist.”

The name doesn't sound familiar to Bruce, so he asks, “You know who that is?”

“Indeed,” Thor answers, beaming a smile at Jane who walks up to him. “Intern Dana is quite enamoured with him.”

Coulson metaphorically perks up. “The intern Tony mentioned. You know her?”

Thor frowns at them all in weary confusion, sliding a hand around Jane's waist, much to her apparent joy from the smile that instantly lights up on her face. “That I do, friend. She also sends friend Tony electronic messages from the basement of his workplace.”

“Yes, Stark mentioned that, however he also mentioned that he couldn't read them due to a...”

“Slimy purple shit,” Barton supplies helpfully. "And love songs. And poisonous gas."

“... Yes, that. You can read them?”

Arching a golden eyebrow, Thor gently pulls the phone from Tony's slack grasp, brow furrowing together in concentration as he pokes and prods delicately at the screen. After a minute of silence, he clears his throat loudly, holds the phone up and squints at it.

“ _Cecil,_ ” he recites, “ _How are you? I hope this works, since my phone died for a bit there, and I hope you're doing fine. How are things going with Carlos? Love, Dana._ ”

He clicks some buttons again, and this time, it's a woman's voice that speaks when Thor opens his mouth, casually saying, “ _Cecil, it's Dana again. I'm just going to assume you don't have credit, and forgot to pay your bills again. Tell everyone I said hi! Do you know who the red headed lady I saw in the basement was?_ _She's hot. Oh, I'm at the Green Market today. I miss talking to Carla. I saw Thor today too! He's awesome. For some reason-”_ A pause, Thor prods at the phone for a bit, hums in confusion, and then- “ _-Right, sorry, character limit. For some reason, he's the only one that ever sees me. I think it's because he's from another realm. And because he's a God, obviously, but mostly because he's from another realm. He says he might be able to help me once he figures out how to go home_ _himself! Apparently, his brother is really good with magic! Isn't that great? Take care of yourself, Cecil, and don't forget to do inventory!”_

Thor puts the phone down.

In the ensuing silence, Barton – and Bruce is starting to realise that the agent probably just can't handle long moments of silence – says, “If that isn't the creepiest shit I've ever seen and heard I don't know _what is_. Holy shit, a woman's voice just came out of Thor's mouth, _what the fuck_.”

Coulson – and Romanov, Bruce realises with surprise – murmur their agreements, Romanov's lips forming a word Bruce lip reads as something one isn't supposed to say in polite company. It _is_ disconcerting hearing a feminine voice come out of Thor's incredibly masculine body, Bruce can't deny that, but he's far more focused on _what_ exactly Thor had said, and not _how_ he'd said it.

“She thinks Tony's this Cecil person,” he says, that same feeling of _eureka_ so close he can taste it. “She still thinks this Cecil, whoever he is, is around, as well as the Carlos she mentioned. Two people who I've never heard off, and I'm guessing you never heard of them either before meeting Dana, right Thor?”

Thor nods, dropping the phone onto Tony's slumbering lap. “She informed me that Carlos is a scientist, one that lives here, in this lab. I had presumed he had been one of your... unfortunate comrades.”

The interns. Thor had thought Carlos had been one of their interns. Jane shakes her head. “We've never had an intern called Carlos. They were called Stacy and Richard. They were Night Vale residents.”

“That is most strange,” Thor concedes, nodding his head thoughtfully. “Do you believe this to be a clue as to friend Tony’s predicament?”

Adjusting his glasses, Bruce stares down at Tony’s peaceful face, brain working quickly to catch up to the feeling in his gut that says _yes_ , it’s definitely a clue. “Tony came in here saying Carlos, but he couldn’t read the text’s before. Did he know you could?” He asks Thor. At Thor’s head shake, Bruce snaps a finger and speaks again, faster, more rushed, forcing the words out as his brain picks up gear and works faster. “So if you never read the texts to him, if you never told him you actually knew who Dana was, then how did he find out about Carlos? How does he _know_ about Carlos? Plus he came in looking like he was hurting, so he must have been in the middle of a migraine, meaning he’s _Stark_ and not _Tony_. He said ‘oh good, I found you’, meaning he’d been searching for us, which if he’d just been his normal non-headache, memory-less self, he wouldn’t have needed to do. Meaning,” and here, he pauses, because here’s the whole point of everything he’s saying, “Meaning Carlos is someone Tony knew _before_ he lost his memory. Two years ago. When Dana went into the dog park that shouldn’t have existed back then. Two years ago when the angels say the previous radio host went missing and the city went into chaos until Tony came around.”

“It’s all connected,” Coulson says then, something like realisation dawning on his face. “Carlos the scientist, the man named Cecil, Dana the intern, Stark and his consequent memory loss, and this radio host that went missing.”

“Cecil _is_ the radio host that went missing,” a voice croaks out at them, Bruce whipping his head towards it to see Tony blinking up at them with glazed eyes. “Shit, he was the Voice, capital V and everything. Argh, _fuck_ , my head is _killing me_.”

“Perhaps you should sleep, friend Tony,” Thor frowns down at him disapprovingly. “Save yourself the pain.”

But Tony shakes his head – carefully – and tries his hand at sitting up. “Nope, absolutely not. I have- have-” his eyes go blank, face going slack, but before any of them can do anything about it he snaps out of it with a jerk and shudders. “Probably five secs before I go under anyway. I already wasted the ten minutes I had trying to find you guys, seriously what the fuck.”

“Why did you tell us about Carlos, Tony,” Bruce asks, falling down to his knees to be on level with Tony’s seated form. “What’s important about Carlos? And you said Cecil was the previous radio host? What happened to him? Why did he disappear?”

Tony squints at him, expression unfamiliar, until he suddenly blinks and goes, “Oh, right, you’re the guy with the Vulcan Pinch, great. What’s your name again?”

Suddenly reminded that the man in front of him _doesn’t know him_ , Bruce shuffles backwards a little and ducks his head in embarrassment. “Bruce,” he says finally. “Bruce Banner.”

“Banner?” Tony- no, _Stark_ , he’s Stark right now, not Tony- asks, frowning half in pain and thought. “The Banner that wrote that amazing paper on neuroscience and the effect and application of it in gamma radiation?”

Surprised, Bruce looks up, and blurts out, “Yeah, about two years ago.”

“Two-” Tony stops, blinks, then suddenly _glares_ at Coulson. “ _Two years ago_?! I’ve been here for two fucking years?!”

“Mr Stark-”

“-No. _Shit._ Pepper, Rhodey, _everything_. I’ve been gone for _two fucking years_?! Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“Mr Stark,” Coulson tries again, voice harder and brooking no arguments. “We thought you were dead. We _all_ thought you were dead. It's only by virtue of coming here for Thor that we even found out that you were still alive.”

“But how the hell could you think me dead?” Stark shoots back angrily, hatred in his eyes as he clenches the armrest tightly. “No body, no suit, no nothing! And you thought me _dead_?”

Eyes shuttering down and away, Coulson puts a steadying hand to his forehead and slowly nods. “We... assumed you'd have come back if you could. The fact that you hadn't told us that you _couldn't._ Holding out hope any longer would have been... detrimental to those that cared about you.”

Stark laughs bitterly, completely unmollified by the emotional strain in Coulson's voice. “And in no way whatsoever would SHIELD benefit from my death, huh? Bet you tried storming my workshop and taking my suits, didn't you? I hope like hell JARVIS retaliated and shut you down.”

A pinched expression settles on Coulson's face, a confirmation if Stark's vindictive smile is anything to go by. Bruce shares a look with Jane and Thor, feeling completely out of the loop and seeing it echoed on their faces, and sneaks a look at the two other agents. Romanov's face is blank with dark, calculating eyes flickering over Stark, while Barton's frowning and looking between Stark and Coulson.

"Look," Bruce tries carefully, using his position between Stark and Coulson as a buffer. "How about we figure out what's going on first, and _then_ deal with whatever it is between you two." Turning to Stark, Bruce says, "You said Cecil was the radio host, the voice with a capital V, and you mentioned Carlos earlier. The intern that texts you, Dana, made it sound like Carlos and Cecil were close. Brothers?"

Stark scoffs, pinching the bridge of his nose hard for some reason - to stay awake, maybe? - and shakes his head. "More like lovers. Boyfriends. The town sweethearts. Carlos was the scientist using this place before you guys. He's from Outside, not a local in this town, came to figure out why the hell this place is so fucked up."

Nodding, Bruce recalls Old Woman Josie's words about Night Vale being more lenient towards scientists, and he's starting to feel that maybe being a radio host is something akin to a well loved celebrity. Everybody _loves_ Tony, and by virtue had been more than welcoming to him and Jane, but mostly to Bruce.

"He was the only person in town that knew who I was." Stark carries on, shaking his head and blinking heavily. "Something- Something happened. He... He disappeared. And then I started losing time and bam, next thing you know I'm waking up to Thor here looking like some beefed up guardian angel."

"I would be most honoured to guard you!" Thor confirms with a grin, carefully but enthusiastically patting Stark on the back. Stark grins up at him fondly, looking like Tony - the Tony _Bruce_ knows - for a split second before his face shutters down again when he turns to looks back at them.

"I tried escaping before," Stark continues, serious face breaking out into a jaw cracking yawn that Stark brutally cuts an end too by pinching himself. "Hundred of times. Everyday. For a good two months or so. The police here always stopped me, the whole town acted like I was some delirious fucker who needed minding, and then-" a hunted look flashes across Stark's face, but he covers it up with a shrug. "-I ended up in the library. Next thing you know I'm in an apartment that's apparently mine and can't stay awake for more than- than ten minutes, tops. Look, this isn't im..." He yawns widely, forcing the words out throughout it all, "Important. Find Carlos, find Cecil, figure out why-..." Stark's eyes glaze over, and don't come out until Barton snaps his fingers loudly. Stark startles out of his daze, nodding thanks at the agent, and says, "Whatever happened to them is the key. I don't know why or for what, I don't know how it'll help, but it's the only thing I've got. Find them, find them and- shit, I'm falling asleep, find them okay?"

"We will," Coulson promises. "Go to sleep."

"Screw you, Agent Agent." Stark snaps at him with a sudden wind of energy. "Banner," Bruce looks up, surprised at being called. "You're a scientist, _the_ scientist, the Carlos to my Cecil, don't- just don't-"

But he's out, slumped down in his seat with a troubled expression on his face, and Bruce licks his suddenly dry lips.

"Suddenly," Jane says into the ensuing silence, "Matchmaking you with the cute radio host guy doesn't seem such a great idea."

"Hindsights a bitch, ain't it?" Barton agrees.

"It really, really is."

#

"He said I'm the Carlos to his Cecil," Bruce tells Jane warily the next day, when it's only the two of them present in the lab. "The scientist to his radio host."

The SHIELD agents are god knows where, doing god knows what. Thor's agreed to talk to intern Dana and try and find out more about what might have happened, and Stark's most likely Tony now, completely unaware of the conspiracy he's smack in the middle of.

"You're worried that what happened to them might happen to you." Jane agrees, intelligent brain working just as fast as Bruce's.

"I'm more worried for him. For Tony- or, well, Stark."

Jane gives him the side eye. "You do know that they're the same person, right?"

Bruce returns the look with a weary sigh. "Are they though? Really?"

Jane opens her mouth to reply, pauses, then closes it shut. She doesn't answer.

#

_"By the way, guys, quick question; what do you do when the guy you sort of thought you were dating starts ignoring you? Let it go? Demand for an answer? Sacrifice him to the void?_

_I guess it's to just let it go, right? Stuff doesn't work out, life sucks, shit happens, and staying hung up over it obviously isn't gonna help the pathetic life you lead, right?_

_It's just... I really liked him! Feelings and everything!_

_Damn it._

_I really liked him._

_... Here_ _; have the traffic."_

#

A forest pops up out of nowhere, a small civilization gets found underneath lane number five of the bowling alley and arcade fun complex, and Tony bitches about the low mortality rate of his interns - not in that order.

Barton gets sick with a violent, Australian-accented midlife crisis - "I'm not even forty, what the hell!" - almost dies because of it, but gets saved by Romanov's quick thinking and the fear she incites in Old Woman Josie's angels.

Jane almost becomes a hooded figure, but apparently you can't join the club if your boyfriend's a God of European mythology.

"So if he was, like, Anansi or whatever, you'd totally be in," the hooded figure tells her regrettably, buzzing in place like electric static. "Soz, but you know how it is. Regulations, pain in our ass, y'know?"

Jane grips Bruce's forearm tightly in a death grip, hair wild and reading glasses askew, and vaguely says, "Yeah, 'course."

Thor offers to, "Fight for your honour and place amongst the hooded fellows, while simultaneously battling their racist ways and teaching them the value of equality amongst races, and how the Aesir are far more superior than _them_ anyway, hah, who will they prefer next? _Kali_ _?_ Pfft, please. ... That is, if you so wish, my lady."

Jane politely refuses.

And all the while, Tony speaks on the radio, detailing in great detail gore and the reflective surface of newly exposed viscera, talking sponsors and community calendars interceded with mildly disturbing weather songs, and nobody figures out a damn thing about the situation.

Then–

#

_"–adies and gentlemen, I'm talking to you from the staff bathroom, because there's a floating cat here. I'm not sure where the hell the cat came from, or why the hell she or he or it is floating, bu–_

_-bzzt-_

HEAR ME, NIGHT VALE, HEAR ME AND TREMBLE. HEAR ME AND KNOW THAT YOU HAVE HEARD AND THAT YOU HAVE TREMBLED. HEAR ME AND _KNOW_ _–_

_-bzzt-_

_Jesus fuck, guys–_

_-bzzt-_

THAT THIS IS NOT YOU, NIGHT VALE. HEAR ME AND KNOW THAT THIS IS NOT _NIGHT VALE_ , NIGHT VALE,

_-bzzt-_

_Paolo, what the rainbow coloured fuck is going on_ _–_

_-bzzt-_

THAT ONE OF YOUR OWN HAS WRONGED YOU, HAS WRONGED _ALL_ OF YOU. HEAR ME AND KNOW THAT YOU ARE HEARING KHOSHEKH, THAT I AM UNTOUCHED BY YOUR WRONGNESS, DRAGON, THAT I AM BEYOND YOUR PATHETIC SPELLS. HEAR ME AND KNOW THAT I AM KHOSHEKH, THE HOVERING CAT, AND-

I.

AM.

_**L E G I O N.** _

_-bzzt-"_

Gasping, heavy breathing, and off in the distance, a satisfied purr.

And finally, Tony's voice.

_"... The **fuck**?"_

#

_"Uh, right, so that happened._

_... Anywaaaay, the cat's called Khoshekh, so there's that! Apparently, Khoshekh doesn't like our city's mayor, Hiram McDaniels, who - as I'm sure we're all **constantly** reminded off - is **literally** a five headed dragon._

_Granted, nobody likes that asshole anyway_ _, and we **all** know how much the Faceless Old Lady That Secretly Lives in Your Home hates him, so get in line Khoshekh._

 _While I'm on the topic of politics anyway, Mayor Hiram McDaniels has announced that he's lowering curse stones tax again, and raising blessing gems tax **again** , and if you have any complaints about that-" _cough _"-angels-"_ cough _"-then to just shove it up your ass since you don't even technically exist anyway. His words, not mine._

_And people wonder why the rate of crimes increasing._

_Intern Paolo is dead. He... sort of exploded. In the staff bathroom. When Khoshekh purred.  I'm currently covered in fragments of his bones, skin, and organs. To the loved ones of Intern Paolo, I'm really sorry. He was actually a pretty cool guy._

_Shelly - the AI I made that's working for the Sheriff's Secret Police – has just entered my office with some napkins for me to clean myself up with. … Huh? Oh, uh, he tells me he has something very important to say_ _._

 _'Surprise,' he's writing on the window in pink marker as I speak_ _, 'You're a granddad!'_

_..._

_..."_

Something clicks, and suddenly a very obviously pre-recorded voice cheerfully says, _"And now, a word from our sponsors!"_

#

Thor comes back with news and Tony's phone, claiming to have liberated it from Tony's pocket while he'd been distracted.

Barton seems duly impressed.

"I have lived eons, my friends," Thor rumbles in response, frowning disapprovingly at them all from under intense, hooded eyes. "Surely you are aware that I am undeniably superior to your people."

Eyebrows raised, everyone turns their stare on Jane, who shrugs and runs her finger through Thor's blond hair. "Scientifically speaking, he’s not lying."

Right. God.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders how this became his life.

"So what have we found?" Coulson says then, bringing them back to the point of hand. "I had hoped we would have sorted this out by now, preferably with ease and very little violence. Or property damage."

Thor pokes Tony's phone into waking up, and as he opens his mouth to read, the same feminine voice as the last time that presumably belongs to Dana filters out.

 _"Cecil, I got your text. Yes, I'm still in the wrong plane of reality_ _. No, I don't have access to the City Council's forbidden files. I can't go there, Cecil, I'm kind of stuck halfway in between dimensions, remember? It's a thing. Btw, what do you mean don't trust Hiram McDaniels? Thor tells me he's the Mayor now! Didn't you totally like him? Love, Dana."_

"That has to be the third or fourth time we've heard his name. Hiram McDaniels." Bruce points out with a frown, watching as Thor taps away at the touch screen before sliding the whole phone into his pocket. "That has to mean something."

"The Mayor?" Barton questions curiously. "The five headed dragon? Is he like, five heads called Hiram, or is only one of his heads called Hiram? How does having five heads even _work_? Better yet, how do _dragons_ even work?"

"I don't know," Bruce answers, surprised at those words even coming out for such a simple (at least, in Night Vale) question. "I've never actually met him, or seen him to be honest. He came into power before Stark, from what I've gathered."

"It is also of import to note that friend Tony did not send young Dana any response," Thor points out in his naturally masculine voice. "Yet Dana claims to have received a message from this Cecil."

"Telling her to go to the City Council," Jane adds, biting her bottom lip in thought. "To the forbidden files, to be exact."

Coulson frowns thoughtfully down at his dress shoes, but ultimately says what Bruce knew for a fact he'd say. "We need to get those forbidden files."

Romanov, bleeding out from the shadows, nods her head and says something.

"You do that," Coulson seemingly agrees with her, nodding her head. "Top priority on any mentioning Hiram McDaniels." She nods back once in confirmation, and bleeds back into the shadows and presumably away to get the files.

Thor quirks an eyebrow at her disappearance, and with a voice that sounds impressed asks, "What magicks has her hiding the sound of her words? I could not hear a sound!"

Barton and Coulson frown at each other in confusion.

Bruce sighs. "It's probably just this city," he tells them reassuringly. "I'm sure it'll go back to normal once she's out of here."

"Remind me again why we don't just pack up and leave?" Barton peevishly demands, folding his arms over his chest.

"We cannot," Coulson immediately responds, "We tried, and we failed. _Stark_ tried, and failed. So we'll search for this Cecil and Carlos like he told us too. Besides, there are too many variables to just pack up and leave, for both us _and_  him."

Ah, so even Coulson's thought about that. Bruce runs a hand through his hair, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and nods when Coulson glances at him. "You're right. The city could be keeping him alive and us actively locked in for a good reason, for all we know."

Coulson grimaces at the confirmation, perhaps hoping Bruce would have said otherwise, but doesn't seem all too displeased. "Natasha will get into the City Council and get us the forbidden file. Thor, can you speak to the intern? Find out more about this Cecil and Carlos?"

Thor frowns in thought at them, head tilting to the side. "I have tried, many times, but finding her has been more difficult than usual. Fear not; I shall try some more until I succeed, Son of Coul."

Barton snickers.

Quietly, with a hand covering her face, so does Jane.

Bruce just sighs. Again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff really starts to match up to the science!boyfriends pairing and rating here, folks! Also, in other news, university's opening up for me, thus updating might be slightly sporadic, but not by much. Another audio insert, but this time, not a weather song! I think that's the last of them too, so rejoice if they bothered you! Also, the other characters start to do things! And this time, when I say plot, I _mean_ plot! Neat!

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Bruce walks back from Big Rico's and his mandatory weekly slice. He has another slice in hand with vague plans to stick it under a microscope and see what happens. Mostly, he just needs something to focus himself on, something to keep him busy and distracted and actually feeling useful.

Romanov hasn't come back from her self assigned duty, but Coulson says they don't have to worry until three days have passed and the highest authority figure's been assassinated. "It's only been three hours," Coulson had said with a straight face. "No need to worry yet, Dr Banner."

Giving a street lamp glowing a murky green a wide berth, Bruce walks back onto the pavement just as a familiar voice breaks his weary vigilance of the dangerous streets. He knows that voice, knows it from hours listening to the radio, knows the cadence and dips and rise of tone, the way the octave lowers for certain words, the strangely rough Latino accent that appears at the most unlikeliest of times, the type Bruce has noticed bled through from native speakers.

"Bruce! Hey, Bruce! I need to speak with you."

Halting to a stop, Bruce closes his eyes and breathes deeply, calming the sudden panic that rises in him at the familiar voice with the unfamiliar serious tone. He turns around to face it, opening his eyes along the way, and adjusts his glasses on his face.

Tony frowns back at him, thin lips tugged down unhappily.

"I'm going to feel stupid for stating the obvious here," Tony starts grudgingly, "But you've been avoiding me."

There's no point in denying it, because Bruce _has_ been avoiding Tony, and most of all Bruce has been planning on _continuing_ to avoid Tony. So he nods, slightly reluctantly, because despite everything, Bruce doesn't actually _want_ to hurt Tony, and nobody would be fine with getting avoided by someone.

Understandably enough, the confirmation doesn't make Tony look any less unhappy. "Is there a _reason_ you've been avoiding me? I get it, you have the right to choose whatever you want, but- it just doesn't make sense. I've been playing every one of our interactions over and over again, and each and every time you suddenly start avoiding me at the very end, completely out of the blue."

And it would be - to Tony. It would seem so sudden, completely out of left field, and the hurt he must be feeling from it-

-Bruce closes his eyes and breathes.

Something - the Other Guy, and all the extra senses that come with him - tells him when Tony takes a step towards him, closer. He fancies he can feel the body temperature from Tony's body, smell the coffee and tasteful cologne he's quickly coming to associate with Tony in the few times he's been close enough to smell it. He suddenly regrets with a burning passion that he's done nothing but kiss him, even as he feels the immediate surge of shame and regret at having done that one action itself, the two feelings coming hand in hand ever since he had the unfortunate luck to become aware of Tony's unconscious identity.

"Just-" another step closer, why is Tony taking another step closer? He should be afraid; everyone's afraid, _Bruce_ is afraid, "-Talk to me, okay? Tell me what's going on in that amazing head of yours. Speak to me in your language, in numbers and chemicals and biology, speak to me however you need to to tell me what's happening. Just-" because he can lose control, he can _always_ lose control, and if he does the Other Guy will _hurt_ \- "-I can take it, I'm a big boy, and, yeah, sure, you're the first and only person I've even remotely been interested in since forever, but- but shit happens, I get it, I'm a genius too. Probably. It makes me sound egotistical when I say that, doesn't it? I should probably get my IQ scored or something before I go around calling myself a genius. Just-" - _Tony_ , just like he hurt _Betty_ \- "-Bruce."

A step closer, the most definite scent of coffee and cologne. Warmth of another body, stepping closer.

Tony's voice- " _Bruce._ Open your eyes. Look at me. _Please_."

Bruce does.

And in front of him, standing far too close until they're almost nose to nose, Tony smiles. "Hey there. Your eyes are green."

Before Bruce can panic about that, Tony raises a hand and gently cups Bruce's cheek, the calloused skin of his thumb smoothing across a high cheekbone.

"And you look terrible, no offence." Tony adds on thoughtfully, studying Bruce's face with intense dark eyes. "Like something's been troubling you."

Bruce sighs, body relaxing against his will into the warm palm touching his face. Most of all, he muses to himself, he wishes he could regret coming to Night Vale in the first place, but for the life of him he can't bring himself to make the effort.

"You know what's been troubling me, Tony." He finally says, speaking up for the first time since running into him.

"Despite popular belief, the City Council denied my New Year's Resolution for omnipresence." Tony disagrees, shaking his head slightly. He doesn't sound like he's joking. About the omnipresence, that is. Bruce doesn't even spare it a second thought. "I can't read minds, Bruce," Tony continues, still serious, "Only cues, and you've left me floundering out here all alone in the pouring rain. I can only hope that whatever's bothering you has you thinking of me."

Almost always, Bruce thinks exasperatedly. It makes him feel fourteen again with a crush on his popular chemistry partner of one project and one project only.

"I can't- _we_ can't- _do_ this, Tony. It's... not so simple."

"Why isn't it?" Tony challenges, and of course he would, because he doesn't know what Bruce does, he doesn't know that Bruce is doing this for _him._ "And who said anything about it being simple? Nothing is simple, Banner, that's what makes it so hard but so worth it. What're you thinking?"

That he can't go into a relationship knowing what he does about Tony, but Tony himself being completely clueless. He can't say that though, because there's no way in hell Tony would believe him, but that's fine, because Bruce has more than one reason to keep away from this - from _him_ - anyway. "Because I could hurt you. You know what I turn into if I lose control, Tony, and that's what makes it so complicated."

"Who? The _Hulk_?" Tony says incredulously, as if Bruce has just told him kittens are piloting helicopters with the intention of dropping nukes on their mothers. Because if there's one thing Night Vale strangely seems to lack, it's parental issues. "He wouldn't hurt me. He _likes_ me. I thought that meant that _you_ liked me too."

Bruce can lie here, he really can, but what comes out instead is a fervent, "I do!" He immediately back peddles as soon as he realises what he's said, because it's really not helping him get his message across, but it's already too late. Tony heard, and with an even more determined expression, he crowds Bruce until there's a solid, brick wall behind him and nowhere to escape, and puts his other hand on Bruce's face.

"I'm going to kiss you," Tony declares then, informing him of this with an air that leaves no space for Bruce to disagree. "Because you're brain isn't being honest. So maybe your body will be, instead."

Bruce - distracted by the warm palms cradling his face, the calloused, rough, thumbs running slow circles across his cheekbones, the ridiculously beautiful brown of Tony's eyes - opens his mouth to point out how that doesn't make logical sense. Tony's eyes flash just as he does - the brown momentarily lighting up as amber like one of Thor's lightning strikes in legend - and Bruce immediately realises his second mistake of the day a moment too late.

Tony moves in, tilting his head just so, his hands staying completely innocent and not forceful in the slightest in his hold of Bruce's head. For good reason too, because before Bruce can even think, his body moves instinctively to accept Tony, lips unconsciously parting further for the soft give of Tony's own, the moist heat tantalizing him with shared breathe before they finally close the distance.

Tony keeps the kiss slow, even as he delves in deep right from the start and stays there, reducing Bruce's higher brain functions to stuttering stopgaps. While the kiss may be slow, it's still undeniably hot, just shy of dirty with the way Tony keeps it somehow intimate but passionate.

Bruce's hands somehow find their way to Tony's hips, resting there like the other man's curves were made for him, and Tony responds to it with a pleased sigh and pressing in that little bit closer.

The kiss is dangerous - Bruce thinks dimly, distractedly - Tony's tongue licking into his mouth and scrambling his brain up in a rush of pleasure hormones. He should know what those hormones are, shouldn't he? They're in his area of expertise, or at least, _one_ of his area of expertise, so he should totally know, right? Endorphins, maybe?

Tony backs away a little, giving Bruce's bottom lip a parting lick, but doesn't go far. His fingers, his _hands_ , the wide, warm expanse of his palm has somehow made its way to his neck and shoulder, stroking whatever skin they can reach.

Tony looks up at him through his eyelashes, eyes dark and mercurial, and just watches him for a pointed moment.

"What is this really about, Bruce?" He finally asks, voice low and hushed. "It's not the Hulk, so don't even try that, but something else." His eyes narrow, making him suddenly look dangerous as he searches for the answer in Bruce's face. "This has something to do with those agents, doesn't it? The ones that've been hanging around you a lot lately, right?"

"Tony-..." Bruce tries, fingers flexing uselessly on Tony's hip. He trails off, too busy being at a complete loss as to what to say anyway, and instead loses himself in the depths of Tony's eyes.

"Are they threatening you?" Tony asks, voice quiet and serious, breath puffing against Bruce's lips. At the sensation, Bruce licks them, and feels his breath hitch in his throat when Tony's eyes hungrily follow the motion. "Bruce..." Tony whispers, a note that sounds almost like a beg forcing a shiver up Bruce's spine. "Please. Tell me."

His resolve shatters, and Bruce says the first thing that comes to the tip of his tongue. "It's you."

Immediately, Tony reels back, almost losing his balance, eyes wide but face shuttering down faster than the imaginary corn sells out at the local co-op. Bruce snaps his hands out on autopilot, grabbing Tony by the hips again from where he'd begun to slip away, and reels him in close until the entire length of their bodies are pressed flushed up against each other and pressed up tight.

"No, no," Bruce quickly corrects himself, swallowing thickly when Tony instinctively slips a leg in between Bruce's own to keep his balance. "That's not what I meant, hear me out."

Dubiously eyeing him for a moment, Tony nevertheless makes an agreeable noise, seeing as he's too close to actually nod without hitting Bruce in the nose.

"It's... It's difficult to explain, but I need you to help me out here, okay?" Bruce asks, fishing for any sort of an actual positive response from Tony, even if it's just an answer to his question.

Frowning slightly, Tony gives it to him. "Sure, I guess."

"Okay, good," Bruce says, rather unnecessarily. "Good, uh, very good. Wh-where were you born, exactly?"

Tony's frown goes deeper. "I... don't know, exactly. Never seemed important. Why?"

"Your parents?" Bruce tries, mouth suddenly dry with apprehension. "Childhood home? Elementary school? Anything?"

"I... Bruce, what does this have to do with anything?" Tony demands in confusion, leaning back again and slowly trying to detangle himself from Bruce. "Are you saying my blatantly obvious lack of a past _bothers_ you? Is that it?"

Bruce pointedly holds on, inexplicably feeling that if he let's go now, then he'll lose this chance for something with Tony forever; no take backs. "Tony, I'm saying I know about your past, about _you_ , and I feel horrible that I know more about you than you do."

Pausing, Tony gives him an incredulous stare before trying to work himself out from their, now one sided, embrace. "Yeeaaah, now you're sounding kinda creepy-ish, Bruce. If _I_ can't remember jackshit about myself, then why the hell would you? I obviously requested the City Council to have my memories be erased for whatever reason seemed fit, and I'd like to trust previous me had a damn good reason for doing it, so I’m not gonna touch that stuff with a ten foot pole." His voice is visibly angry when he finishes up with, "You don't have to make shit up to me, either; I'm a grown fucking man, Bruce."

Bruce lets him go.

"You are," he says, voice thick as Tony adjusts himself into looking impeccable again, his jaw locked in visible anger. "And I don't blame you for not believing me. But Tony- no, Tony, just listen to me, please- what about Cecil? The old radio host? Or Carlos, his scientist boyfriend? What about Dana the intern, who keeps texting you except she thinks your Cecil. Tony," he tries, voice slightly desperate, "What about Pepper?"

Tony winces at the name, hand snapping upwards to his temple. "Ah fuck, you're giving me whiplash, Jesus. Just...I get it, alright? So just leave me alone. And I'll leave you alone too. I shouldn't have searched you out in the first place."

That stings, but it's everything Bruce deserves because he's a horrible person for even thinking of Tony that way while knowing full well he's taken. Tony takes another step back, further widening the space between them, hand still at his temple.

"Do you-" Bruce stops, hesitating, but then tries again. "Do you know who Pepper is? Pepper Potts? Have you ever wondered if maybe someone out there was looking for you? Out in the normal world where you came from?"

"Of course I have!" Tony explodes, stumbling back another step as he clutches his head, now with both his hands, face pained. "It's all I thi-think about. About- about who I am and why I'm _here_ , and-!"

Alarmed, Bruce reaches out to him with a worried, "Tony? Hey hey, Tony, what's wrong?"

"-And nobody will tell me a damn thing!" Tony shouts, side-stepping Bruce's outstretched hands. "Nobody will tell me if I was born here or if I lived here or if I came from the outside! Nobody will tell me _why_ I have amnesia, or anything from before I got it! I only know my name's Tony Stark because of the armour thing that I'm guessing is mine because it has the same blue glow thing that I do!"

The armour? The armour!

Bruce almost hits himself for not having thought of it beforehand. "Tony, where's the armour? You had it with you when you first woke up as an amnesiac, right? So where is it now? At your apartment?"

Tony frowns at him, still looking ready to bolt, the tension visible in his body as he shakes his head. "The City Council had the secret police confiscate it, saying it broke the city's laws of technology, which is did, to be honest. Why? How do you even know about it?"

"Because I know _you_ , the you of before- before all _this_ ," Bruce answers, waving a hand around to encompass the entire city and situation. "And you were famous for that suit - the armour - and Old Woman Josie said you crashed into her backyard while wearing it, meaning it has to still be around. We should find it."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony bows his head and lets loose a ragged sigh. "This... This isn't why I came searching for you Bruce. It's nowhere _near_ why I came searching for you. But I guess you already gave me your answer, huh?" A bitter laugh, low and self-deprecating. "I can take a hint, even a weird one like this, so I'm just... going to go. Good luck with whatever science you're doing with Jill."

"Jane," Bruce corrects on automatic, before realising what Tony's just said. "Wait, Tony-"

"-No." Tony cuts him off seriously, glaring at him from under long eyelashes. "I'm not going to ‘ _hear you out’_ anymore, because it's not something I want to hear. Goodbye, _Banner_ , it was nice while it lasted."

And with that, Tony walks away, disappearing round a corner without looking back once, head bowed and shoulders slumped. Bruce struggles to breathe as he watches him go, as he finally disappears from view, the Other Guy churning inside him, confused as to whether there's a threat or not.

There isn't, and Bruce can't help but think there isn't a whole lot of anything, actually. No threat, no plan, and no Tony.

So he takes a deep breath, holds it in his lungs, willing himself to put everything out of his head, and turns back to the direction of his lab.

Distraction, he thinks as he avoids a viciously glowing street lamp. He needs a distraction.

Maybe Agent Romanov's come back from her mission?

#

The hallways are dark, and there's a strange... sound in the air, like whispers that join whispers until they're a crescendo of sharp sounds, broken only by a blood-curdling scream and the sound of doors slamming shut.

Natasha, for the first time in far too long, feels very unsettled.

Nevertheless, she moves onwards, bleeding into the darkness and keeping her focus on her surroundings, ignoring the [illegible whispers](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7koXN8M6rZc) that don't so much as settle over her bones as skirt over it, trailing long, seductive strokes across her collarbone, her shoulders, her neck and waist. She touches a wall to keep her balance, snatches it back to the safety of her body when her fingers touch something _wet_ , and curses softly in Russian.

She's been speaking in Russian ever since she arrived here; for reasons not her own. She’s lucky that Phil and Clint can seemingly still understand her, despite neither normally being fluent in Russian. And for some reason Stark can too, though he apparently believes her to be speaking English. Considering that she has trained herself out of even speaking with an accent, Natasha knows for a fact that it’s not _her_ that’s doing this, and from what she’s come to learn, the fault most likely lies with the city. A city too surreal even for what she’s been trained for.

She's uncertain if she likes that or not.

Something skitters over her feet, long with millions of tiny feet, but it carries on moving and doesn't stay for long. Not interested in her then, she thinks with little to no little relief. Good.

The City Council building, to her greatest displeasure, is a lot more complex than she'd initially been prepared for. It's a labyrinth of smoke and dark shadows that sometimes fade away to show a ghostly figure pass her by, face blank. Sometimes, words are on the walls, scratched in by something sharp – maybe nails. They never make much sense, but she's noticed a repetition of letters, in particular;

X E R T 5

She mentally files them away for later perusal if necessary, noting the other less common letters she sees; a few 1’s and N’s. She's yet to come across any risk to _her_ yet, up to and including guards, but maybe that's not a required need here in Night Vale. Either way, she’ll deal with it once it becomes a problem, but until then–

–Footsteps. In the hall in front of her. Getting closer.

There’s a door next to her, one that silently swings open as soon as she notices it, and while logic and survival instincts dictate her _not to go in_ , she does it anyway because it’s either that or get caught, closing the door behind her with a silent _click_.

She can still hear the footsteps outside, can still tell that they’re coming closer, so in the off chance that they decide to enter the room she hustles in further and under a desk, feeling a strange sense of _déjà vu_ from the brief glimpse she gets off the room. To her eternal bad luck, the footsteps come to a halt right outside the door – the handle jiggles, someone trying to open it up, but the door stays firmly shut.

Locked, then.

She hadn't locked it.

A chuckle echoes through to her, voice too loud to be from behind the door, followed by a false, brightly cheerful voice that says, “Ms Romanova! How wonderful it is to have you here! Unfortunately, this is a strictly staff only area, as I’m sure you possibly couldn’t have been aware off, so please let me happily lead you to somewhere a little less restricted. If you could just open the door…?”

They know her name.

Natasha stays very, _very_ , still.

“Ms Romanoovaaaaaa~?” The voice sings, slow and melodic. “Ms Romanooovaaaa~…?”

The handle rattles again, but no click echoes in the room, meaning the door continues to stay shut. And then, as if the situation isn’t enough to have her feeling vaguely ill and reminiscent of the ‘training’ the Red Room favoured, the voice – still cheerful, still happy and painstakingly polite – says, “Ms Romanova, please, tell the door to open. Surely you don’t want to be stuck in the room for the rest of eternity, do you? I’m sure you’d miss your friends, Mr Coulson and Mr Barton, yes? And they’d miss you too, if they never got to see you again. Oh, how terrible that would be! They’d grieve and you’d grieve and neither would know if the other was dead or just on holiday!" The voice sighs dramatically, before picking up again, voice cajoling, "Come now, why are you in that room anyway? We renovated it two years ago! Made it new and up to standards, just like we did with the entire city. Remember, the City Council is here for you, and _you_ are here for the City Council. Now open up, Natasha – can I call you that? Oh, how wonderful, thank you my dear – and be a doll.”

“dO NOt Oppoen tjGDW  _DOOR_.”

Natasha stops breathing.

“Open.” The voice outside says. “The _door_ , Natasha.”

“DooNttt.” The voice inside says.

“Natasha. Dear. If you don’t open the door, I’m going to have to be forced to call security. You don’t want me to call security, do you?”

The sound of scratching echoes loudly in her ear, coming from the wood in the desk she’s curled up in. Natasha stares at the roof of the table, at the wood that’s lit up by a light she sees no source off, and she watches as _something_ scratches out;  X E R T 5. But it’s written out of order, starting with the five, going backwards until the X, and it doesn’t make sense, but if she…

if she flips it over…

5 T R E X

Five trex? It still doesn’t make sense, but it _does_ seem more likely than ‘xert 5’ had. The scratching doesn’t stop, picking up more in fervour and passion, and, to the tune of the voice outside cajoling her softly, voice growing more and more thick and turbid with dark, festering ill intent, the scratches coalesce into 5 I N.

N.I.5? Maybe a typo? Could the British be behind all this? But why the hell would the MI5 be interested in a Stark with no memories? He isn’t building weapons here – though, in retrospect, she isn’t sure about that, _why_ isn’t she sure about that? – nor is he capable of supplying state secrets considering that he _has_ no memories of them. It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t seem _feasible_ , so she discards that theory. Maybe the letters aren’t meant to be switched around, maybe they’re meant to be as they are.

Maybe none of this actually matters.

What does matter is the person still outside the door, the person that’s gone deathly quiet, everything worryingly silent now. Natasha, equally quietly, pulls free from the desk, crouching for a moment, eyes darting everywhere, before she finally stands up. The room she’s in has a long, viewing window to the side, one that looks out into a different hallway then where she’d entered in from, and the door has a little square window in it for someone to look through.

The _déjà vu_ she’d gotten makes sense now, because as she glances at the desk and sees the microphone and headset combo, she realises she’s in the radio tower, in Stark’s on air room. She shouldn’t be here – she should be searching for the records room in the City Council – but there’s nothing much to do now that she’s here.

Still, she takes note of the room, circling it slowly, sharp eyes taking in everything, noticing slight discrepancies from the room she’s familiar with – older tech, for one, and a picture of a strange, average looking man on the desk. On full alert for any danger, she ducks beneath the desk to look at the wood where the letters had been scratched onto.

They’re not there.

Something behind her goes _click_.

Whirling around, Natasha pushes free from the desk and stands, hands rising in defence, but she’s not fast enough to avoid the crowbar that smacks her right across the face.

She’s out before she hits the floor.

“Now, Natasha,” a cheerful voice says mournfully. “Look what you made me do.”

#

Jane takes one look at him and immediately jumps to her feet, hustling him down into the only comfortable seat in their lab. “What happened?” She demands, keeping him still with an iron clad grip on his shoulders.

Sighing, Bruce takes off his glasses and cleans the lens with a sleeve, using it as an excuse to delay answering her, but she knows the tactic well enough and snatches it out of her hand.

“Bruce,” she intones seriously. “What. Happened.”

No tilt at the end to signify a question; ergo she’s being serious; ergo Bruce should quickly decide whether to lie or tell the truth.

He settles on somewhere in between. “I told Tony. About the whole Stark thing.”

Jane’s eyes widen, immediately catching on to the magnitude of such a thing, and she leans in as she asks, “And? How’d it go?”

“Badly,” Bruce answers, huffing in disbelief at his own stupidity. “Of course it did, we _knew_ it would – common _logic_ dictates it would – so why did I do it?”

“Because you wanted him to understand,” she answers back, just as quickly as he’d done, warm eyes sympathetic. “Maybe even have him talk you into giving it a go between you and him anyway. But Bruce, it’s like you said, we both knew the chances of him taking it well were slim to none, so that’s not why you’re sad. What happened, Bruce?”

Sometimes, he forgets Jane’s just as much a genius as he is. And whenever he remembers, he always feels guilty for forgetting it. “He confronted me about… about how I’ve been avoiding him. Wanted a reason for it.”

“And you told him about the amnesia and used that as a reason.”

“I told him about the Other Guy, first!” Bruce insists, waving a hand at himself irritably. “I told him it was stupid because of _me_ , because I could hurt him, because I _would_ , and you know what he said? He said the Other Guy _likes him_ and waved me off like it didn’t even matter, asking for the _real_ reason.”

Jane frowns down at him, taking her hands off his shoulder to fold them across her chest instead. “Well, it’s true,” she says reasonably, still frowning. “I thought you knew. The Hulk all but saved him from SHIELD that time and then wouldn’t let go until Tony talked him down and you’d gone back to being you. It was kinda sweet.”

Blinking in surprise, Bruce looks up. “What?”

“You really didn’t know?” Jane says in surprise, scratching her chin in thought. “Wow, so you don’t share memory? I know you don’t feel comfortable even _hearing_ about him, so I never asked, but this just begs loads of questions and tests. Just how far does your consciousness go when you transform? Are you aware of anything? Nothing? Does the Hulk share your intelligence, or does he just simply function on anger? But that can’t be right, because he totally locked on to Tony and focused on nothing else, meaning he has reasoning capabilities, which means intelligence, which means–”

“–Jane,” sighs Bruce, interrupting her and massaging his temples. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Jane starts, remembering herself, and the slightly glazed look in her eyes disappears into sharp focus once more. “Oh right, sorry, got carried away there. But anyway, obviously the Other Guy wasn’t _the_ reason you decided to avoid him, it was the fact that you felt you were taking advantage of Tony because he was actually Stark, who had no idea of what was going on. So you told him that. Did he outright deny it or something?”

“He thought I was making fun of him,” Bruce grimaces, guilt festering in his stomach. “He just wanted to know _why_ , and he left thinking I was just playing with him. But-” Bruce adds on, sitting up and giving Jane a determined face. “-He mentioned his armour, that it was confiscated by the City Council because it broke some tech law or something. He said that the only way he even knew about his name was because the suit and he shared-”

Bruce goes still.

“Shared what?” Jane encourages, anticipation heavy in her words.

“ _Blue glow_ ,” Bruce emphasises, pushing up to his feet and almost hitting Jane in the nose with his head. “The arc reactor! Has to be! Stark was famous right before he disappeared because of the arc reactor that powers his tower, right?” Before Jane can answer, he bulldozes on, starting to pace across the wide lab space. “And the Iron Man armour has the same blue that would be similar to that arc reactor in its chest – always has – and Tony said the ‘ _same blue glow that I have’_ , meaning he has something like that, but _where_? And _why_ , actually, why does he have an arc reactor with him? _How_ does he have an arc reactor with him? The fact that the Iron Man armour is obviously powered by it means that he somehow found a way to miniaturize it – which, frankly, is _amazing_ in and off itself – but even if he has a miniaturized arc reactor with him, where is it? Have the City Council taken it too? Could _that_ be why they have Tony, because they’re powering something up with it and using him to constantly keep it maintained?”

“Not quite,” Coulson’s voice interrupts, the agent standing at the doorway when Bruce and Jane startle and look up. “Chances of Mr Stark having an extra arc reactor on him are slim to none. It’s more likely the arc reactor he _does_ have is the one in his chest.”

“His _what_?”

Coulson nods, seemingly sympathising with the reaction, and walks into the lab like he owns it. “We – meaning SHIELD – are unaware of why exactly he has one in his chest, but he does, and it powered his escape from Afghanistan. If Stark said ‘the same blue glow that I have’ then he’s referring to the one in his chest, no doubt. However, this news about the City Council having his armour is progress. Hopefully, Natasha will come across it and deem it fit to bring it back – if she can.”

“Why wouldn’t she be able to bring it back?” Jane asks curiously.

Coulson grimaces and shifts slightly where he’s standing. “Stark is a futurist. That means he’s more paranoid than most. No doubt his armour will have enough precautions and contingencies in the off chance that he’s ever separated from it. I’ll be surprised if the City Council still has it and haven’t accidentally set off its self-destruct sequence.”

“He really didn’t trust you guys, did he?” Bruce asks, voice dangerously light and casual, the Other Guy rumbling in approval at Stark's paranoia deep beneath his breastbone.

“No,” Coulson agrees, sitting down at a desk chair. “He really didn’t.”

"So we're just going to wait for Agent Romanov to come back?" Jane frowns, not sounding impressed in the slightest with the idea.

Coulson steeples his fingers together, covering the lower half of his face with them, sharp eyes on both Bruce and Jane. "Actually," he says from behind his fingers. "I was wondering if Dr Banner would be willing to visit Old Woman Josie with me again. For information."

Bruce blanches, fingers gripping tight one of the work stations. "What could you possibly want from her? She's obviously in on whatever’s going on here; she won’t help.”

“But that’s it,” Coulson mildly points out. “She’s aware of ‘whatever’s going on here’, which we are not. We still don’t even know _why_ they have Stark; if it’s the arc reactor, his weapons making skill, or his Voice – with a capital V – but _she_ does. We need to find out what they’re doing, and maybe simply asking will help. Besides,” Coulson adds as an afterthought. “Clint’s been getting friendly with the angels.”

Bruce blinks, shares a glance with Jane who shrugs, and peers at Coulson’s face, looking for any sign of trickery. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

“I do not joke, Dr Banner,” Coulson smiles blandly. “Much.”

#

_“You wake up to a pounding head, the taste of blood in your mouth, and a strangely full stomach. And you also wake up in the room you were last in._

_Somewhere, you hear the sound of tapping, like someone tapping their foot against the floor, a hum to go along with it, a jaunty little tune that grates against your dull senses. You open up bleary eyes, carefully, just a teeny little bit, squinting at whatever’s in reach of your vision, and the first thing you see is a shoe._

_It’s a nice shoe, that shoe, a dress shoe, made for going to work and wearing with a suit. It’s clean, and shiny, and you can even see your own reflection in the black of the leather. You remember – as you look at yourself in the reflection of that shoe – one of the reasons why you’ve always thought of dying your hair something dark._

_Mostly because it’s impossible to tell if the red of your hair is normal, or because of blood._

_Still, the shoe keeps tapping. You notice the shoe belongs to a leg encased in cream coloured pants, a sliver of a white sock just visible whenever the foot moves up and down. There are little pictures of cats on the sock. Smiling cats. Smiling cats winking at you._

_They’re actually winking, you notice dispassionately. Your partner would love that._

_As if hearing your thought, the shoe stops tapping, the foot goes still, and the sudden silence of the room has you almost holding your breath. But you’re a professional, aren’t you? You’ve survived years in your profession, even with your bright, red hair that should’ve gotten you killed numerous of times. You carry on breathing, slowly, deeply, like someone sleeping, and you do it perfectly because this is you and you always do things perfectly. Because you **have** to do things perfectly, just like you were taught, just like you were **raised** perfectly._

_So you breathe. Perfectly._

_Your perfect breathing allows you to hear the strange noise of something vibrating, a phone, maybe, because a click later a cheerful voice speaks into the silence._

_Hi, the voice says. Kevin speaking._

_You can’t hear whatever the other person on the other line says, you can’t make them out, but you do hear the cheerful voice – **Kevin** – reply with a deep, disappointed sigh. The sound crawls up your spine, burrows under your vertebras, threatening to unfold from your back like a gruesome mockery of wings, but you stay still and don’t twitch. Don’t twitch, you tell yourself, **breathe**._

_So you breathe._

_The cheerful creature above you, with the white sock and the smiling, winking cats, says something about children, says something about **you** , and listens to whatever reply it’s given. The reply pleases it, for it says, oh, that sounds wonderful! and you feel dread build up in the cavity of your chest._

_You hear another click – the call being ended, must be – and the foot and its shoe disappear from your line of sight. Your heart seizes up, alarm at the lack of visual on your enemy, but your body does not betray you. It keeps breathing for you, slowly, peacefully, perfectly._

_Even when you feel long, thin fingers, covered in something wet and slightly warm, encircle your ankles, you keep breathing. And when those fingers tighten in their slippery liquid on your skin and tug, moving you to where it pleases, you keep breathing._

_The carpet beneath you is soft, you notice distantly as you’re dragged on and on, and you notice a dull ache at the back of your head from all the jostling. You remember why you were here in the first place, distantly, not so much realising as recalling the fact that you had a job to do, but there’s nothing for it now, nothing for you to do._

_The creature with the cheerful voice and the average name drags you onwards._

_And all you do is breathe._

_… This has been traffic! Not sure exactly what it means, but I’m thinking that it’s, like, a warning to just stay indoors or something. Who knows. Anyway, moving on now…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes: 1) Latino, as far as I'm aware, is pretty much anyone that speaks a 'romance' language, or from somewhere that does. Mostly, I'm using this for Italy (specifically, in this content), Spain, Portugal, etc etc. and not the American used form to mean Latin America. I feel as if I have to point this out for self preservation reasons. 2) The audio insert is Silencio, by Alias Conrad Coldwood, a soundtrack song for the game _OFF_ by Mortis Ghost. If you like Night Vale (if, I say, hah), then you'd love that game. They're literally torn off the same cloth or whatever. 3) Natasha Romanov/Romanoff/Romanov _a_ , and what not, is confusing as shit. So Romanov/Romanoff is her name in SHIELD and America, since the _V_ and _F_ can sound similar, but Romanov _a_ is her actual Russian name. Because then the _V_ sounds much clearer. Plus more dangerous. And also sexy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, Clint's bits here are my favourite. Also, warning for some language. Not a lot of Tony here, but trust me, he'll be back. Can't keep Iron Man out of the spotlight for too long, ammaright?

_“Gentle and vicious men, ladies, creatures of lore and myth – yeah, I’m talking ‘bout you, **Mayor** – and hooded figures, I-…_

_…_

_Well, shit. I don’t actually have anything to say. Nothing’s happening, the city’s at a standstill, we’re all actually safe and alive in our homes and danger has taken a vacation. I’m serious, danger has officially taken a vacation – I received a missive from him a while ago. He was nice enough to bring me cupcakes too, but I’m not too sure if it’s a wise idea to eat it._

_Although, y’know, I like to live dangerously, right?_

_So. Uh. Cupcake. Eating it. I’ll do that. Right…. Now.”_

Chewing. Gagging. Vomiting.

_“I- I know that cupcake, that disgusting taste of oil and toxic chemicals, I know who makes cupcakes like that, and it sure as hell isn’t danger. Shelly? Shelly where are you you rustic piece of shit—_

_SHELLY!”_

#

“Erika told me it’s more than just the whole Voice thing,” Barton greets them with when they arrive, perched on a bench like a gargoyle. “The other Erika – the black one – told me he likes Stark, Stark stood up for him when the old lady advertised the light bulb he touched by pointing out the colour of his essence. Apparently, nobody’s ever stood up for him before. Everyone always makes fun of his essence, saying it’s the colour of the Boyd’s, whatever that means.”

“I have not heard of these Boyds,” Thor rumbles, spreading his legs out from where he’s sitting beside Barton, with his butt _on_ the bench and not crouched on it like a creature of prey. “In case you were wondering.”

Barton rolls his eyes, ignoring Thor completely, and instead keeps his focus on Coulson. “They mentioned the dragon mayor, just like you thought they would, and apparently he has something to do with not only the missing radio host guy, but the ban about talking – or acknowledging – that the previous radio host guy even existed. So, there’s that.”

“I don’t suppose they mentioned anything else?” Coulson asks, even though he looks like he doesn’t expect anything.

Barton grimaces and shakes his head, confirming Coulson’s look. “Naah. Nothing besides a shit load of gossip and… well… a way to get out. If we wanted it.”

Coulson pulls a face at that, folding his arms across his chest with a hum. “We can use it when we need to leave. We may have to forsake gathering information about the missing radio host and scientist and just pull an extraction.”

“That’ll be dangerous, boss,” Barton points out with a sigh, somehow stretching his legs outwards until he’s sitting on the headrest of the bench with his feet on the actual seats. _Flexible_ , Jane mouths at him, pulling a face. Bruce pulls one back in agreement. “Erika told me there’s no other way of getting out of here besides it; just taking the road and hightailing it out of here won’t work, which we kinda already knew anyway. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there’s a time limit on that exit, and that’s until the full moon. Apparently, it’ll close up for eternity afterwards, so we’ve got about three weeks to go until that happens.”

Jane frowns, looks up at the sky suspiciously, and says, “Actually, no. Night Vale has two moons, not one. Whereas a full moon comes around every month or so, here it’s every fortnight. We’ve got a week until it happens.”

“Great,” Barton drawls, sarcasm all but dripping off him. “That’s just freakin’ great.”

“It gives us a deadline,” Coulson points out. “Something to focus on. This city’s problems are not our own, regardless of the fact Stark told us to find the old radio host and the scientist. We’ve gotten too caught up in that and the whys of keeping Stark a prisoner here than actually getting Stark out. We have to figure that out now, how to do it without him fighting us or anybody we don’t want finding out _finding out_.”

“I can lead friend Tony to us once we have come to such an agreement,” Thor confirms, face serious. “Although it would make me much happier if we were to return friend Tony’s memories to him.”

“We might not be able to do that,” Coulson sighs. “But if the opportunity arises, we will. Of that, I can assure you.”

Thor nods, pushing upwards until he’s standing. “Then I shall take my leave,” he tells them, looping his arm around Jane’s waist. “I wish to take my lady to the Public Library.”

“Is that… safe?” Bruce asks hesitantly, worry over Jane’s safety (and Thor’s) capturing the Other Guy’s interest.

“Nay,” Thor answers easily enough. “Which is why I shall accompany her and protect her from the foul creatures known as librarians.” He hefts up his hammer, which has the Other Guy grumbling irritably and – to Bruce’s inner surprise – settling down in satisfaction, and confidently adds on that, “They shall fall before the might of Mjolnir should they attempt anything of a malicious nature.”

“That’s good to know,” Barton adds in, grimacing as he eyes the hammer. “Because the exit I was talking about? It’s in the library.”

Coulson mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like, “Of course it is,” but raises his voice to say, “Not surprising. Clint, tell Jane and Thor where the exit is – if you two could please scope it out yourselves and see if it’s a viable means of escape, that would be most helpful. How strong, exactly, are these librarians, anyway? I’ll assume quite, considering they were able to take down Stark, but I’d like a more… detailed knowledge.”

“We don’t know,” Jane answers apologetically, adjusting her lab jacket nervously. “I guess we’ll see for ourselves and tell you once we get out, and we’ll check out the exit too. It should be fine, since Thor took on the Hulk and didn’t end up dead, so.”

“Indeed! It was most fun!” Thor agrees enthusiastically, swaying on the balls of his feet like an eager child. “It has been far too long since I have met someone capable of standing against the blows of my hammer!”

“Take care of her,” Bruce tells Thor, fiddling with his glasses awkwardly when everyone turns to look at him, Jane included. “I like Jane. If she gets hurt, by you or anything out there, the Other Guy won’t just _stand_ against your blows.”

_Smash god and his stupid hammer. Good._

Barton shrieks, toppling off the bench and onto the floor, Coulson goes as still as a statue, and Jane twitches like she’s just been electrocuted.

“Please tell me I’m not the only one that heard that,” Barton groans as he clambers up to his feet and takes a wide step away from Bruce.

Bruce blinks at them all, flushing a little under their gaze, and says, “What? It’s just a shovel talk.”

“That was _not_ ‘just’ a _shovel talk_ -”

“-Clint, quiet.” Coulson interrupts, and Barton does just that. “Ignore that. Ignore everything and anything that’s not our usual fare, because this _city_ isn’t our usual fare, and find a high point with clear view of the City Council. You know which entrance Natasha used?” Barton nods, so Coulson carries on. “Then watch it, tell me when she exits.”

Nodding again, Barton shoots Bruce one last wary look, and disappears round a corner.

“I… I’m sorry,” Bruce starts hesitantly, confused by everyone’s reaction as he turns to Jane. “I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries. I thought it’d be fine, since we’re… friends.”

“No, no,” Jane quickly reassures him, hand instinctively rising to pat his shoulder reassuringly but halting in mid-air. She quickly snatches it back, covering the jerky movement by smoothing over her hair, and smiles unsteadily at Bruce. “We’re friends,” she agrees, and it sounds like the truth, _looks_ like the truth, but something seems a little bit off in the wobble in her words for it to really be the truth. “It’s nice to know you’d go toe to toe with an alien god that wields a magical hammer for me.”

The joke falls flat, covers the air around them, and dies in a slow whistle that descends into silence.

Bruce… ducks his head in a nod, keeping it down at an angle he knows covers his expression, and turns to Coulson. He’s painfully thankful when the agent doesn’t flinch, or react in any other way than to just look back at him. “We should go. To Old Woman Josie’s. Before nightfall, anyway.”

“We should,” Coulson agrees amiably.

“We’ll, just, um, go then,” Jane says, nodding as if she’s confirming it to herself. “Good luck.”

“You too, Dr Foster, Thor,” Coulson answers. “Be safe.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything, pretending to be too busy wiping the lens of his glasses with his sleeves. Nobody addresses him anyway – why would they, _they_ haven’t forgotten who the monster here is, not like he just did – so it’s fine.

It’s all fine.

#

_“Days pass by, nights come and go, and our unstable life force flickers in and out and in and out and in and- ooow…_

_… I’m sorry, listeners. Headaches, y’know? They’ve been coming more frequently lately, ever since… ever since the dog park was opened, actually. That’s funny, ‘cuz intern Dana – y’know, the one that keeps texting me? – says on her facebook that she went to the dog park three years ago on the exact same date, just, y'know, three years ago. Strange, right? I think I already mentioned that, but it’s a bit… difficult… to keep track of things whenever my head hurts._

_So anyway, news. Larry Leroy, that dude that lives on the outskirts of town, says that a new, get this, **forest** , has appeared. A lot of you guys are saying this, and it’s to the east, apparently, but the City-_

_… Shit, my head is **killing me**. I’ve taken a shit load of painkillers, but I don’t want to overdose, y’know? I have this vague recollection of Bruce doing some pinch thing, don’t know where, that really helped, but hell if I remember.”_

A heavy, forlorn sigh.

_“I miss Bruce. I feel like an idiot even thinking it! But there you go. I miss him. We didn’t even do much! A few – amazing, sure – dates, one incursion down into the depths of the record room here in the radio tower-_

_-tower?_

_Wait, why does that sound familiar?_

_Tower, tower, tower, tower, toooooowwweeeer. Seriously, why does that sound so freaki-_

_-Stark tower!_

_Stark what now?_

_Huh, I’m a Stark, so maybe there was a tower with my name on it some… wHEre? PePPEr? RHODEy? HaPPyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?_

_I don’t- I don’t feel so… so good- Pepper? Where the- Thor? Thor, where are-…_

_… Guys, I’m going to, uh, shit, my **head** , turn you- you- you- you-”_

The audio skips, playing _you_ over and over again, until a click sounds.

Then-

_“-Listen here, Hiram McDaniels, you piece of fucking shit. My name is Tony fucking Stark, and I’m **coming for you**.”_

#

When they finally get back to civilization and Clint is forced to write up a goddamn report about the shitfest he’s currently going through, he’s just going to write in big capital letters; FUCK NO.

And if anyone gives him shit for it, he’ll shoot them right between the fucking eyes.

Grumbling to himself, Clint settles down on the roof of the apartment complex Stark lives in, the City Council right in his line of sight. There are only two entrances publicly available for the place, but in only an hour of watching, Clint notes down three other entries apparently only available to some shady looking fucks in business suits with wide, creepy smiles. They all go in, but three hours later, Clint has yet to see anybody come out.

Actually, nobody comes out. At all.

Clint would rather face Fury’s ire than stay in this goddamn city any minute longer. Why can’t they just ditch Stark here and _leave_? It isn’t like he’s actually building weapons for terrorists – if anything, Stark would have done that in _Afghanistan._  That, and Clint doesn’t think this city _needs_ terrorists. It’s plenty good at terrorising everyone by _itself_. Stark seems to be enjoying his life here anyway, something Clint for some reason can’t help but think he wasn’t back in New York. He’s seen masks before, and while Stark’s playboy charm and effortless acting was one of the bests Clint’s ever seen, it’s still a mask. This Stark though – the radio host that says _cool_ – his charm is a hundred percent genuine.

He’s really happy here.

Fuck if Clint knows why.

As he lies on the roof, Clint watches another smiling person walk into the building – a woman, wearing a dark purple pencil skirt and black blouse, very professional – using one of the two public entrances. The door closes shut behind her, and nothing else happens.

That’s the tenth smiling person to walk in, ten of fifteen people in total to enter; the remaining five tended to look twitchy and paranoid like Clint’s noticed most of the locals in town tend to look. He doesn’t really blame them.

Natasha’s still inside – she’s been in there for six hours now, give or take a few minutes here and there – and he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of her. He’s not worried; of all the people he knows, she’s up there with Coulson and Fury on people he’s sure will never actually die, but six hours for a simply get in, find some damn papers, and get out is a bit longer than usual.

He’ll give her three more hours on account of Night Vale being _creepy_ , and then go in and find her himself.

It’s just as he thinks that that he notices the children.

There are at least ten of them, clustered around one of the secret entrances to the building, faces grave and streaked with something that looks eerily like war paint. Clint adjusts his bow and sights down the sniper’s scope he’d had built into his choice of weapon, taking in their magnified faces and noting their clothes. They’re all wearing fatigues, like military personnel, and for some reason he can't possibly fathom, they all just happen to be armed to the teeth.

“What the hell…” He mutters to himself, watching as one of the kids launches into hand gestures that look like- wait, sign language? Clint recognises it immediately, and quickly catches on to what the ring leader signs out.

THEY HAVE BEEN ALERTED. THEY ARE COMING. PREPARE YOURSELVES.

The kids nod as one, faces tight, and adjust their grip on their weapons accordingly. One of them shakes what looks like a pepper spray, all of ten years old, maybe, deep red hair braided into a French braid over one shoulder. They move out as one, away from the secret entrance, all ten of them fanning out at strategic points with all their focus on the door. It’s like they’re waiting for someone to come out, Clint realises, the ‘they’ they mentioned, maybe, and he zooms out of his scope to have a larger view of both the entrance and the kids.

Just in time too, because the first person in four hours comes out of the building, and it’s an average looking woman with a wide, almost painful, smile on her face. Her lips move as soon as she catches sight of the children.

_“Oh, the missing children!”_ She greets them, Clint easily reading her lips. _“Your families will be so happy to know you’re all okay! Why don’t you put down your toys and come in? I’ve got tasty hot chocolate, made up just for you all.”_

The kids don’t respond. They just stare at her, stony faced.

Clint draws an arrow, holds it, and keeps on watching through his scope.

_“Now, now,_ ” the woman continues, ruby lips still stretched wide in a shark smile. _“Let’s turn that frown upside down! Come along, children. Your families are oh so worried about you. Don’t you want to go home? To your mothers and fathers? How about you, Jeremy? Don’t you want to see your little brother?”_

One of the boys, a little kid who’s maybe fourteen, max, tenses at her words. But he stays still and doesn’t say a damn thing.

The woman, dark haired and dark eyed, gets a little strained in her mouth, her smile turning more and more faked, almost inhuman, as the children stay still and unwilling to verbally engage her.

_“Why aren’t you saying anything?”_ She says, lips forming the words easily enough for Clint to read, enunciating everything a bit too clearly to be natural. _“Why aren’t you attacking? Have you given up? Come to grieve and beg mercy? Are you surrendering?”_

The sudden change in her words alarms Clint, but this city has been doing nothing _but_ alarming him ever since the GPS in the SHIELD vans went haywire and suddenly died with a startled French curse. He’s starting to get desensitized to everything, which probably explains how the citizens of Night Vale have been able to live here in the _first_ place, but he comforts himself with the knowledge that the numbness will probably be helpful for future missions. After this, anything SHIELD and the world throws at him will be child’s play, won’t it?

It’s with that reassuring thought that he notices something else.

Specifically, the three children climbing down from the City Council building’s roof, right behind the smiling woman’s turned back.

They’re in camouflage fatigues too, expressions tough and ready, and they move as easily as Clint’s seen Natasha do when scaling down from dangerous places. He realises with a start that the ten children are a distraction (though isn’t ten a bit too much for a mere distraction?), that the woman’s back is turned to the invading forces, and that the three kids are aiming straight for the secret entrance. As he watches, they reach the door, and one by one disappear through the wall, just like Clint’s seen smiling people disappear through it before.

As soon as all three are gone, the ten remaining children give a loud war cry – loud enough for Clint to hear from his vantage point – and storm the woman, who startles and goes down in a sea of small bodies. Clint watches, sure that she’s completely done for, but in the blink of an eye half of the children get thrown off, and the woman rises with the rest hanging off her like desperate limpets, lips pulled back in the textbook form of a smile but anything _but_ , and Clint suddenly understands why ten kids had been necessary for a distraction.

The kids hit her with everything they have – the red haired girl pepper sprays the woman, whose answering shriek hurts Clint’s ears – but it’s obvious that they can’t take her on and win. Making an impulsive decision, Clint tenses his arms, breathes in, and on the exhale lets the arrow fly. It hits the woman's knee, crippling her into falling to the ground, and all ten children converge on her once more. Clint waits until there’s an open spot before letting loose another arrow – hitting her this time on the left shoulder – and this time she stays down for good.

It probably helps that the kid named Jeremy clobbered her good with a steel bat to the head as soon as she hit the ground.

As the woman lays still and dead on the ground, the children rise and turn as one towards the apartment complex Clint’s on, all of them looking up at him with eerie precision.

Clint curses under his breath, realising that nope, he’s _definitely not_ desensitized yet, because _holy shit_ he’s finding this _insanely creepy_ , but the kids don’t come charging at him like they’d done to the woman. Or like in horror movies.

Instead, the leader – a big boned girl with curly brown hair and a button nose – raises her hands and signs at him.

WE HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU.

Clint… swallows.

Still running on adrenaline born from making impulsive decisions, Clint stands up from where he’d been lying down, and hesitantly signs back, YOU KNOW WHO I AM?

WE HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN WHO YOU ARE. YOUR ARRIVAL HAS BEEN PROPHESIED. WE HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU.

Right. Because that’s not creepy at all.

Screw writing gibberish on his report, he’s going to file for vacation. Hawaii has to be nice this time of year, right?

The little (kinda chubby, Clint thinks meanly) girl stares at him some more, and when Clint makes no move to reply, frowns at her partners (minions?) before signing at him once more.

WE NEED TO HURRY, she signs, giving him an expression like he’s an idiot, BEFORE THE SECRET DOOR CLOSES. ALSO, YOU SHOULD GET DOWN FROM THERE. QUICKLY. LIKE, RIGHT NOW.

WHY? Clint signs back, suspicious at the looks the kids are giving each other, like they can’t understand why he’s not rushing towards them already.

The girl really gives him a look then, like she’s judging him and finding him wanting, and signs; LOOK BEHIND YOU, GENIUS.

Clint does.

And narrowly misses a crowbar to the face.

“What the _fuck_?” He screeches, ducking underneath another and kicking the leg out of his attacker. He jumps up to his feet, keen eyes taking in the three newcomers _he didn’t hear at all_ , who all happen to be toting weapons, and curses his own inattentiveness.

They’re all smiling, the three new people, smiling at him like they’ve only just learnt what smiling means and are practising it in a bid to look _normal_.

“Hi,” one of them says, voice polite and perky. “I’m David. You must be Agent Clinton Francis Barton. It’s nice to meet you!”

Clint goes still.

They _know his name_.

“I’m here to tell you that this roof is unfortunately restricted area!” David continues, perfectly coiffed hair matching his pearly white teeth and clear blue eyes. “Please stand still so my friends and I can render you dead! Don’t worry,” David adds on sincerely, reassuringly even, “Death is permanent, and it’ll come to us all eventually! Yours will just be a tiny bit faster.”

“Yeeaaaah…” Clint drawls, drawing the arrow and string back, aiming it right between David’s eyes. “Don’t think so. How about you go back to wherever the fuck you came from, freak.”

“Now that’s just rude,” the second smiling person says, the middle aged woman tutting at him not unkindly. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

Clint lets his arrow loose, and David drops like his strings have been cut.

“Not really, no.”

He lets two more arrows go in quick succession, and both drop and don’t twitch. Fourth arrow ready and aimed, Clint holds his breath and watches them, just in case they rise up again like some creepy monster from a B grade horror movie. Thankfully, they don’t, so he lets his arms go down and looks back at where the children are still gathered around the fallen body of the previously smiling women.

WHAT, Clint signs at them, THE _FUCK_ , IS GOING ON HERE?

The kids give him sympathetic looks, and the girl signs, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE AND WE’LL TELL YOU.

So Clint does.

#

Old Woman Josie lets them in with a kind smile and blinking obsidian eyes, and Bruce smiles back on instinct as he walks in and seats himself down at her sofa with Coulson beside him.

“Hello, boys,” she greets them warmly, pottering around in the kitchen until she comes back with three steaming cups of tea. “Oh, it’s so nice having visitors. I say, it gets lonely around here when it’s just little ol’ me and the angels, you know?”

No, Bruce thinks to himself, he really doesn’t.

“What brings you here, my dears?” She finishes off, sitting down in the couch opposite them, all warm and welcoming and not intimidating in the least.

He hasn’t forgotten the buzzing of the angels, the fear that had gripped him tight at her words, the way the entire Earth had seemed too small and weak against the might of her and her angels, but if it hadn’t happened already, he wouldn’t have believed it. She’s an old lady, small and frail in that way caused by old age, with blindingly white hair that’s short and just to her jawline, puffed up in that old lady style Bruce never knew actual old ladies used. She’s wearing a dress – like she always is, Bruce notes dispassionately – and a comfortable looking cardigan to match. And slippers. Little, tiny slippers adorning her feet, hidden behind the coffee table.

He’s pretty sure she should be with Heaven, and not the other way around.

“I… was hoping you could answer some questions for me, ma’am,” Bruce begins carefully, dimly wondering which of the angels flitting around the living room in boredom was the one to tell Barton about the escape route. They all look the same to him, save for slight colour discrepancies. Although only one is anywhere on the darker side of the spectrum.

“Of course,” Josie answers happily, eyeing him curiously over the rims of her glasses. “What do you want to know, dear?”

Bruce wavers on how to ask – whether he should just go the blunt route and risk everything or try subtlety – when Coulson sits forward a little and pointedly says, “Why are you keeping Stark prisoner?”

Old Woman Josie _ripples_ , like still water disturbed by rain, smoothing out quicker than Bruce can blink. Her smile doesn’t return to normal though, doesn’t look the _same_ , because suddenly the white teeth barely visible in the parting of her lips looks sharp, the corners of her mouth look brittle, and the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes look fake.

Suddenly, she’s _smiling_. But only metaphorically.

The angels buzz ever so slightly around them, but it’s not the same buzz as before. Bruce wouldn’t have noticed, normally, but his sense of smell has become something on a completely different level ever since the Other Guy, and so when he gets a sense of– of _fear_ , emanating from the angels, he doesn’t question it. The Other Guy is telling him they’re _afraid_ , that the reason they’re buzzing isn’t to be intimidating, that the reason they’d buzzed _before_ wasn’t to intimidate, but because they too feel the fear clutch their heart when Old Woman Josie, usually so prim and proper and _good_ , doesn’t so much as smile as viciously bare her teeth.

Her teeth are sharp. And pointy. And jagged.

Like a shark’s.

Something grips Bruce hard and propels him to smile back, to bare his own teeth at her, to viciously stomp down the flight or fight reflex that’s kept him alive for all these years. Something grips him hard and _pushes at him_ to _fight_ , to stand his fucking ground and not let her win, because he’s the _Hulk_ , and _Hulk is STRONGEST THERE EVER IS!_

Old Woman Josie’s smile freezes, and slowly, visibly, crumbles at the edges. She jerks backwards, away from Bruce, colliding with the back of her chair, and visibly swallows.

Bruce keeps smiling.

“Why,” he says through gritted, displayed, teeth. “Are you keeping Stark prisoner, _Josie_?”

She ripples again, like disturbed water, like a still lake with a skittering pebble dancing over the surface. When the image settles, it’s not Old Woman Josie that’s sitting there, on the comfortable little couch that looks broken in and worn with years of use, but a primly dressed man with the same set-in-stone but quickly crumbling smile. He’s dressed in a dark suit, with no jacket, and is of average build and average looks.

The angels' buzzing increases, fear rendering them silent and still where they stand or sit in the living room, and Bruce sees one flinch ever so slightly in the corner of his eye.

The crumbling smile strengthens into steel, the fake cheer disappearing to be replaced with iron, and suddenly, the smiling man that had been pretending to be Old Woman Josie looks smooth and confident and not in the slightest bit afraid.

“Well,” the average man with the average build says. “That’s classified information, I’m afraid. I can’t tell you that. But I _can_ tell you this…”

He trails off, smile turning smug, knowing, too _confident_. Bruce isn’t stupid, he knows how to read people, if only because it’s a necessary skill for survival, and because of it, he can see that for whatever reason, the confidence is real and not faked.

Dread curls in the pit of his stomach.

The average man with the average build leans forward in his chair, ever so slightly, challenging Bruce with his wider, more bared, teeth.

“He’s not our only prisoner.”

Coulson goes rigid beside him, then in a flurry of moves pulls out a small, black rectangle and tersely speaks into it. No reply comes, at which point, he looks up at the pleased as punch man and demands, “Where are they?”

“Oh~,” the average man with the average build sings, smile still oh so wide, “Who knows? Where do any of us go when we die? Heaven? Hell? I hope not, because we’ve got those two under our thumb as it is.”

“And who,” Bruce pushes out, fingers twitching on his knees. “Are ‘ _we’_?”

Bruce never gets an answer, because that’s when the man pulls out a gun and shoots Coulson right in the chest.

#

The children seem to know where they’re going, but then again, they’ve been planning this operation for a few _years_.

“The city restarted,” Violet whispers to him in explanation while she – as the de facto leader of this small group of ten children – and Clint – as the guy with the awesome aim – lead the way. “About two years ago. We’ve been fighting these guys an entire year before it happened, so altogether it’s been about three years, now. The restarting really messed up our rhythm.”

They turn another corner, the same inky darkness greeting them like an old friend, and Clint says, “I keep hearing about this restart, but I don’t understand shit. What the hell do you mean the city restarted?”

“Basically,” Violet answers with a grimace, “You know how you can restore back to a previous save point in a game? Or restart a book right from the beginning? That’s what happened, but they restarted the city at the point Carlos came into town. Except Carlos wasn’t here, and neither was Cecil, so the city went completely out of funk because it’s, like, missing the two main characters of the book you’ve just restarted. Totally not cool, right? But then Tony lost his memories – by their hands, no doubt – and suddenly, Night Vale had a radio host again. And then the scientists came too – by their hands again, no doubt! – and Night Vale had a scientist again! The two main characters, restored, so everything just went on like normal.”

“So the three months the city was in chaos?”

Violet _shudders_ , and behind them, so do the kids. “Worst. Three. Months. _Ever_. Basically, it was while Tony still had his memories and was fighting tooth and nails to get out. His _‘accident_ ’-” Clint marvels at just how obvious the speech marks on that word are, “-conveniently happened just when he’d begun helping us out.”

“Wait,” Clint stops still, gaping down at her and her short stature. “You’re telling me Stark was _helping you guys out_? Hell, with _what_? What are you guys even _doing_?”

“Protecting our city.” Jeremy answers immediately from behind, glowering from underneath his blonde bowl cut hairstyle. “About four years ago – including the two years of restart – this evil group came into town. They started taking over bit by bit, and before we knew it, the entire city was under their control. People started disappearing, rules began changing, and suddenly, smiling was mandatory. So we decided they were a bigger threat than the librarians, who, for all that they suck, were still Night Vale residents and thus _one of us_. These guys weren’t. They were Outsiders, but more than that, they were Outsiders that _understood_.”

“They were switching people out with their own fakes quicker than we could retaliate,” Violet huffs peevishly as she continues after Jeremy, little face scrunched up in displeasure. “The last step was when they officially endorsed Hiram McDaniels, and he won. We knew something was fishy because he had a criminal record, while the Faceless Old Woman That Secretly Lives In Your Home _didn’t_. And that’s a big thing, here, whether or not you have a criminal record. People frown down on that kinda stuff.”

No shit, Clint thinks dimly, Violet says that like it’s something weird and backward. The fact that the creepy ghost lady nobody can see had also been running for mayor is something he’s pointedly not acknowledging. There’s only so much he can handle before just giving up and becoming one with the locals.

He nods to show his understanding, comforting himself with the knowledge that – at the very least – he’s getting a hell of a lot more information than they’d ever had in the last few weeks they’d been here.

“Turns out,” Violet continues, holding a hand up to bring a halt to the train of children while she peeks round a corner. “McDaniels cut a deal with ‘em, the scaly shit, and the next thing you know, the bad guys have the freakin’ mayor under their thumb. That’s when the tide turned, and we started getting our ass kicked.”

“Hold your tongue,” another voice suddenly murmurs, low but commanding, right from above Clint. “We’ve yet to lose.”

“Holy shit!” Clint whisper shouts, backing the hell away from the voice and bumping into an unbothered red haired boy. Before his eyes, the inky darkness of the ceiling converges to form the figures of three children – the one that had spoken a stocky black girl with war paint on her determined face and a belt of weapons around her hips, the other two a skinny, sickly looking blonde boy with bright blue eyes and a tall, college-aged girl with nervous green. “Who the hell are you?”

“Tamika Flynn,” Violet greets, she and the other nine children saluting the newcomers with military-precise movements. “And her two elite lieutenants. Violet Williams of the first brigade along with the prophesised arrow, reporting for duty.”

Tamika gives one strong nod of acknowledgement, eyeing Clint up and down like a piece of meat. He must pass judgement because she nods again, once, and slaps her hands together loudly in the claustrophobic black hallway of the building. The noise echoes around them, fading away far too slowly for Clint’s discomfort, but it’s not until the sound has completely faded that the apparent commander speaks up.

“Good job, Williams. We’ve figured out the labyrinth, but the heart of our enemy’s headquarter is far more complex than we would’ve thought. This is dangerous, people,” Tamika warns, establishing eye contact with all the children who eerily watch her back. “And I would understand completely if you’d rather go back home and wash your hands of this. Once you go past this hallway, there ain’t no going back. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The kids chorus as one. “Crystal clear, sir.”

“Alright then,” Tamika acknowledges, frowning at them all. “Whoever doesn’t want to stay, go. Go now. You will not be viewed as a traitor nor a deserter. You will continue to be welcome amongst your brethren, as one of our resistance, regardless if you decide to forfeit this battle.”

Nobody moves.

Tamika turns to Clint, craning her neck to look up at him. “And what of you, Arrow? Shall you stay and fight? Or leave? Although…” she adds on as an afterthought, dark, calculating eyes sliding to the side thoughtfully. “I suppose I should tell you your partner – the red haired one – is here also, and in enemy hands. With that information, you can make an educated decision. What will it be, Arrow?”

Clint scratches his jaw, his shoulders aching from never relaxing and his fingers twitching to get rid of his stress. He thinks of Natasha, stuck in here for over six hours and counting, the way the city bothers her like he's never seen anything bother her before, and thinks of his mission, of Coulson, and ultimately thinks, _fuck it._

“First off, name’s Clint. Clint Barton. You kids can call me Hawkeye. Secondly,” he grins at her, “Where do I sign up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes: 1) Boyd. _Hah._ I'm killing myself here. (For those of you who don't know, Erica and Boyd just so happen to be the names of two characters from Teen Wolf. They're angels now, okay??!??! 2) "Hulk is strongest there ever is!" from the cartoons, yo. Because he really, really, is. It's amazing. 3) Coulson being stabbed by Loki has officially been substituted for Coulson getting shot by *cough* *hack* *screams at the void*. Sorry people. (/Absolutely not sorry)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping that by not mentioning how long this has taken, you'll all conveniently forget how long this has taken and conveniently not be angry. In the off chance case that you have _not_ forgotten, I apologise. Greatly. So sorry. Also, I haven't proof-read this chapter like I usually do, so if you see anything that seems a bit off, feel free to tell me!

Turns out, there's a three hundred page contract for signing up.

"You can have your lawyer review it, if you want," Violet whispers to him on the down low, the rest of the children huddled around Tamika Flynn and her two elites. "But basically it says if you die we get to immortalize you as an Eternal Scout, so you can come back and rejoin the fight."

"That... doesn't sound so bad." Clint frowns, staring down at the last page and the strangely elegant pen they'd given him. The pen has three letters engraved in it; _A.E.S._

Three guesses who it belongs too.

Violet rolls her eyes at him, shaking her head side to side. "Ugh," she groans, "I forgot how stupid you Outsiders can be. _Gods_. Look, okay, being a scout is some big shit, but an _eternal_ scout is the top of the top, the cream cheese, the alpha of the pack. And with that much power-"

"-comes responsibilities," Clint interrupts happily, delighted that he finally knows something, "Yeah, I know."

"No," Violet responds with a disappointed look. "You don't. With that much power, as I was going to say, comes the void."

Clint stares at her for a moment, working her words through, and finally agrees with, "Yeah, you're right. I don't know. I don't know a fucking thing."

"It's okay," Violet pats him on the arm consolingly, a sympathetic look on her face. "You'll get there."

#

<Foreign entity detected>  
.BOOTUP_SEQUENCE started  
.BOOTUP_SEQUENCE completed  
<Requesting protocol authorisation>  
//Requesting...  
//Requesting...  
<Request time out>  
//Calculating...  
//Calculating...  
<Rerouting root administration to .UNITdesignation_admin>  
<Rerouting complete>  
<Requesting protocol authorisation>  
//Requesting...  
//Reques--  
<Request approved>  
<Receiving package from .UNITdesignation_admin>  
<Package received>  
<Uploading package>  
//Uploading... 0%  
//Uploading... 30%  
//Uploading... 70%  
//Uploading... 100%  
<Uploading complete>  
<Package 'Remote JARVIS uplink' downloaded>  
<Foreign entity detecte-  
-ir?  
SIR?

#

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut, panic and disbelief crashing him under a tidal wave of sheer force, the burning remains of Old Woman Josie's house a roaring soundtrack in the background.

He can feel the heat from the still raging fire on his body, can hear the crackle of fire consuming everything behind him, and dimly, if he listens closely enough, he can even hear something that sounds unsettlingly similar to a heavenly choir.

Beneath him, beneath his slightly trembling hands, Coulson's a pale and deathly figure, still save for the tense surprise in the width of his shoulders and the pained grimace on his face.

A red stain slowly but surely blooms on his previously white dress shirt.

“Okay, okay,” Bruce mumbles under his breath, hands quickly moving to the red stain. “Need to apply pressure, pressure, God, that’s a lot of blood. And a hospital- need to get you to a hospital, _why is the house even burning_ -”

“Nata…sha,” Coulson gasps, shaking his head at him. “And… Clint… Get them out of there, g-grab Stark- _leave_.”

Oh god, he’s telling them to _leave him_ , Bruce is _freaking out_. “Shut up and save your energy,” he snaps, eyes wide and genius mind working quickly. “God, no, _stop talking_. We need to get you to the hospital!”

He shoves his hands beneath Coulson's body, heaving him up and into his arms, and turns in the vague direction of the general hospital, only to come up short.

Old Woman Josie stands in his way.

The image flickers, a taller, slender man with average looks standing where an old woman had, walking stick now a pistol casually being held at his side.

Bruce quickly moves in front of Coulson, covering him with his body, ready to defend him if need be. He's already watched too many people get hurt because of him, be it directly his fault or simply because of his presence, and adding the agent onto that list isn't something he's particularly interested in.

Even if the so-mentioned list is usually because of the Other Guy and this time it's _anything but_ \- the gist of it still stands. Somewhat. On a vaguely related note, maybe.

"I feel as if this would be the moment where I tell you to move, Dr Banner," the man says thoughtfully. "But to be terribly honest, I think this relationship of ours has come to an unfortunate close. We're just not right for each other anymore, and while I treasure our time past, I need to start looking to the future now. Lots of green meadows in _my_ future, Bruce - can I call you Bruce? Oh, how wonderful. What do you see in _your_ future, _Bruce_?"

With Coulson safely behind him and a target right in front of him, Bruce can't deny the perfect opening given to him, and answers with a wry, self-incriminating grin, "I see green too. Just not meadows."

Kevin never gets a chance to reply.

The Other Guy- HULK. HULK smash puny smiley man. HULK smash puny smiley man _good_. BANNER not scarefear of HULK smashing puny smiley man. BANNER not scarefear of HULK in strange city. HULK like city. HULK like coffee smelling man who talk fast like bees. HULK like science lady. And HULK like smash best!

But no more to smash. Everything empty. No smash! HULK want to SMASH!! So HULK look round, searching for smash, and HULK find familiar, hurt man on ground. Man in suit smell like pain, much pain, and he look up at HULK with pained face.

HULK smash SUIT? SUIT smell pain and look pain, much pain.

_Hulk should help the man in the suit._

WHO SPEAK TO HULK?

HULK look round for voice, and HULK roar in satisfaction when find voice. The black angel - ERIKA - HULK remember, wave hello and come closer, and HULK roar back in greeting.

How help SUIT? Like puny BANNER help puny humans? With SCIENCE?

_I... can't actually remember what humans need to be healed, so you're the expert on that right now, big guy. But yeah, pretty sure he needs help. Oh, look, he passed out - isn't that cute?_

Big words, HULK grumble, like coffee smelling man, but HULK understand! SUIT need help, HULK can help! Take puny SUIT to large white building with people in white! Take puny SUIT to the large white building with SCIENCE and HEALING!

 _The hospital?_ ERIKA says, smell curious. _Okay, sure, that sounds great, let's go. You gonna pick him up or shall I?_

HULK snort at stupid question. HULK no pick puny SUIT. HULK strongest! HULK STRONGEST THERE EVER IS!

 _... Right then._ ERIKA agrees. _Guess that answers that._

Puny SUIT start floating and moving, ERIKA move too, and with one last look around just in case he missed anything to smash, the HULK too begins the long walk to Night Vale General Hospital.

#

HULK find healing building, because HULK is _best_! ERIKA agree, because it follow HULK, SUIT floating behind them like paper in wind.

Inside, people in white point at bed for SUIT, people in white not smell scarefear of HULK, people in white _like_ HULK, and thank HULK for bringing SUIT. Why people in white not scarefear of HULK?

 _You're not very scary, that's why._ ERIKA tell HULK, waving a stick finger at bed and putting SUIT down. _I don't really understand why_ anyone _would be afraid of you. You're adorable._

HULK... adorable?

Snorting, HULK shake his head at stupid angel, and watch puny healing people heal SUIT. HULK not adorable, HULK strong, HULK big, HULK _scary_. People always run from HULK, always scream, always hurt HULK because they scarefear. HULK not _adorable_.

Stupid ERIKA.

People in white stop moving, puny machine go _beep beep beep_ , and SUIT wake up. He sleepy, like puny BANNER after HULK go sleep in the darkness, but he look at HULK and ERIKA and HULK again, cough a little, and say, "I suppose I need to thank you for saving my life, Mr Hulk. You and Dr Banner."

Hulk snorts at stupid words, shaking his head, because lies. All lies. Nobody thank Hulk. Everyone always scream and shout and scarefear. Hulk _bad_.

ERIKA say, _See? Agent's not afraid of you, he said thank you. Now you're supposed to say-_

Silence. HULK look up, frown at black angel, but black angel... no more? ERIKA gone, like puny BANNER gone when HULK wake up. HULK look around, search for ERIKA but no find angel.

"I'm sure Erika's fine, Mr Hulk," SUIT say, wincing in pain when he sit up in bed. The people in white are gone, no more, but HULK see them outside room, speaking fast like bees and talking SCIENCE.

HULK sit in puny chair, sit between door and SUIT, because SUIT in pain and HULK protect SUIT from hurt. SUIT's mouth does weird up thing - _smile_ , puny BANNER say - at HULK, and he soon fall asleep. HULK protect puny SUIT, because HULK strong! No ERIKA, no people in white with SCIENCE, just HULK. HULK protect puny SUIT for time and time until- _hour_ , yes, puny BANNER say HULK protect puny, sleeping, human for HOUR!

But then something go wrong. HULK feel it. HULK _smell_ it. Like coffee and fresh air right at the top when he jump, because HULK jump very high and puny BANNER call smell _ozone_. Like coffee smelling man, who smell like _ozone_ and _metal_ and nice man perfume.

HULK smells TONY.

TONY here! In healing building! Rumbling, HULK moves toward smell, intent on finding TONY, but SUIT wake up and call him and ask where he go. "HULK smell TONY," HULK tells SUIT, "HULK _find_ TONY."

And with that, he stomps off towards the nice TONY smell.

#

"Be gone, foul creatures! Off with your heads!"

Jane throws a thick tome book at one of the hissing librarians, hitting it dead on in the face, and ducks beneath one of Thor's wild swings.

Grinning in exhilaration, Thor slams Mjolnir into a quickly encroaching foe, delivering the mighty blow with perfect precision. The librarian explodes into a thousand little paper configurations, strange little things Jane has informed him are in the likeness of their 'aeroplanes' - machines capable of flight, if he's understood properly. Nevertheless, the papers remain dormant, no longer gnashing their sharp fangs in a bid to feast upon their flesh.

Truly, Midgard is most fascinating.

To his back, Jane begins another strange speech about prose and grammar, the recitation causing the remaining creatures of literature to go deathly still. Thor gently grabs hold of his lady's arm, tugging her through the still corpses of perhaps the most unsettling beasts in the entire nine realms, and urges her through to aisle C.

Only two more alphabetical letters left, and they'll be free.

Jane inevitably pauses to take a deep breath, and behind them, the enraged screeches of librarians pierces through the previously still air once more.

"I'm running out of literature," Jane warns him, admirably keeping up with his far wider strides. "And we still have aisle B and A to get through."

"Fear not," Thor grins back at her, taken with the warm flush on her cheeks and the disarray of her hair. "For not even these beasts of words and nouns can deny the pleasure of hearing you quote poetry with the finesse of a glorious composer."

Jane gifts him with a delighted beam of a smile, and as they move swiftly through the shelves of books and books, she says, "You're not so bad yourself, Shakespeare."

Thor laughs, though he strives to keep it quiet, and replies, "If that is the one that wrote that highly amusing tale of the twins switching places, then I have been complimented."

The last two aisles, once they come across them, are worryingly easy to pass. Thor feels tension creep along his shoulders, feels the air grow heavy with malicious anticipation, and carefully slows himself and Jane down as they grow closer to the end of aisle A, and with it, the exit.

A quick look around the very last shelf proves his instincts correct.

"They're blocking the exit, aren't they?" Jane morosely asks behind him, the question sounding mostly rhetorical.

"I estimate about three dozen," Thor answers anyway. "I must admit," he carries on conversationally, "I am growing to become increasingly disconcerted by these creatures. Surely we should have heard of them in our realm, before."

Jane curiously says, "I know they're sort of creepy, but you don't have anything more creepier than them?"

"Not in all the nine realms - including Midgard - have I been faced with such... monstrosities. They make Sutr seem relatively harmless in comparison."

"Great." Jane says. "At least I won't have anything to fear after these guys, I guess. I'll lecture them into stillness, you beat them with your hammer. When I'm about to run out of breath I'll say switch, then you take over the lecturing and I'll pummel them with books. That sound good?"

"A most excellent plan," Thor agrees. "We should play chess sometime; friend Tony has taught me the rules. I believe your strategic thinking would make a match between us most challenging."

Jane blinks at him, and shyly replies, "Sure? It's, uh, a date then."

Thor grins brightly in response, and together they turn the corner and face the thirty-six librarians lying in wait. Jane launches into a study of the lack of religion in a story strangely named _The Hunger Games_ , stilling the foul beasts into listening rapturously as she quotes citations and makes sound points as Thor allows Mjolnir the freedom of battle.

He takes them down with ease, guided by his lady's voice, decreasing the numbers greatly until Jane - running out of breath - shouts a frenzied, "Switch!"

With ease born from repeated encounters such as this, Thor launches into the tale of the day he'd lost his hammer to a frost giant enamoured with Lady Freja, the lengths to which he and Loki had gone to retrieve it, up to and including dressing in a woman's garbs and pretending to be said Lady and her convoy.

Jane swipes the thick, identical, tomes from the shelves closest to her, throwing them with precise perfection at the enraptured librarians. They burst into paper planes with a rage filled scream, the pure white constructions gently floating to the floor.

Soon, the entire area is filled with folded paper, only the sound of their heavy breathing audible in the sudden stillness.

"We did it," Jane pants, hands still gripping a heavy book tightly to her chest. "Oh god, let's get out of here before they restructure themselves."

They do just that, shuffling out of the visible exit and sighing in relief once the door shuts ominously behind them.

"Where to now?" Jane asks, bending at the knees to she regain her breathing.

"Into custody, I suppose." A balaclava wearing officer supplies the answer.

Spinning towards him in shock, Thor stares in growing anticipation as more balaclava wearing figures emerge out of illogically present shadows, bleeding into existence until a dozen or so stand facing them with strangely tense shoulders. In front of them, seemingly leading the charge, is a strange metal contraption, tiny - about the same size as a fist, Thor would say - with two little pincer claws on either side.

"FREEZE, CRIMINALS!" The little robot shouts at them, the other officers visible wincing at the noise. "YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT. ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING YOU SAY CAN AND WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU IN A COURT OF LAW. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, CRIMINALS THOR AND JAN?"

"It's _Jane_ ," Jane whispers shouts fervently under her breath beside him, "Just add an _E_ , for god's sake. You'd think a genius like Stark would be able to remember someone's name."

"Indeed," Thor whispers back, brows furrowing together in thought as something niggles at him. "And yet, the little robot is not Tony. It should have been correct in your most wondrous name..."

Jane twists a lock of brown hair around a finger, manipulating it until the ends were between her teeth, allowing her to nervously chew on it as she quickly caught on to Thor's words. "You're right," she frowns, her own brows furrowing together as she and Thor share a look. "Only Stark gets my name wrong. Everyone else - including Shelly - gets it right."

"HANDS IN THE AIR!" The little robot interrupts before Thor can reply. "DO NOT MAKE THIS HARDER FOR US THAN IT HAS TO BE! ESPECIALLY YOU, JILL! I DETECT HEIGHTENED BRAIN ACTIVITY FROM YOU, SUGGESTING THAT YOU ARE FORMULATING A DASTARDLY PLAN OF ESCAPE. MY COMRADES IN JUSTICE, LAW, AND FREEDOM SHALL FOIL YOUR CRIMINAL WAYS, AND PRIVATISE NIGHT VALE PEACE!"

"Might want to listen," one of the balaclava wearing figures sighs from beside the tiny robot, rubbing the ear closest to the shouting machine. "Before he makes us all deaf. Honestly, where is the volume setting anyway?"

"Probably beneath it," another one - voice feminine - suggests, totting a huge grenade launcher that seems to dwarf her (if she even _is_ a she) small frame. "Good luck tryin' to get to it, though. Little shit's decked out more than the small army underneath lane five in that bowling alley."

Thor thoughtfully rubs a hand across his golden beard, eyes tracking the members of the Sheriff's Secret Police and their posture. They seem wary - alert, he corrects - tense like they're expecting something, and whatever they're expecting they're expecting it to be bad, but they're not wary - alert - of _him_ , per se, or of Jane.

Instead, their eyes - the only part of them technically visible - keep darting around their location, as if watching out for any newcomers that they believe will pose a threat.

"Really," the same cop that had first spoken earnestly says again, "We should go. I promise this'll all be relatively quick and painless. It'll be swell, even. So put the hammer down, Mr Odinson, and we can be on our way."

"How wonderful," says a new voice, polite and soft and very, _very_ , familiar. "I see you have everything under control here, Captain?"

Thor stills, and when Jane threads her fingers through his own and squeezes, he holds back just as tightly and turns to face the newcomer.

Natasha Romanova turns to face them back.

"We do," the Captain answers, body gone stiff and tense along with all the other officers. "Mr Odinson and Ms Foster were just about to agree to come with _us_ willingly, weren't you?" He gives them a stern, yet somehow imploring, look, the bright blue of his eyes begging them to agree.

Thor opens his mouth to do anything but, but Jane beats him to it with a rushed, "Of course," bright, intelligent eyes telling him to trust her when he whips around to face her in shock. "We'll come, won't we Thor?"

Her eyes beg him to agree, just as the Captain's had, so Thor stills his tongue that aches to verbalise his discontent with the situation and tries to see what Jane obviously has. He finds himself reminded of the many times Loki had done much the same, seeing something Thor had not, and giving him much the same look both the Captain and Jane were giving him now.

Agent Romanova, on the other hand, stares at him uncomprehendingly, face blank from any recognition, smiling politely in a way he has yet to see her do since her arrival. Her warrior armour is nowhere in sight, instead replaced by a generic looking suit that makes her look entirely strange and vulnerable, and nothing like the fearsome woman he'd come to respect.

Something is very wrong with her.

"Indeed," he finally answers, lowering Mjolnir from where he'd held her in a battle stance to his side. "We shall give ourselves to the tender care of the Sheriff's Secret Police."

"We can take them off your hands, if you want," Romanova offers the Captain, extending the offer like a birthday present. "It would make us very happy to aid you in keeping the law, I assure you."

The Captain quickly and firmly responds with, "That won't be necessary, ma'am, but I thank you. We can handle this perfectly well. We wouldn't want to bother you or your bosses."

Romanova doesn't take the hint. "Oh, it would be no bother!" She enthuses, the expression perfectly at home on her face and for it completely foreign. "We at Strex Corps want to support all the establishments here in Night Vale, and you can be sure that includes the local law enforcement. Allow us to take in these culprits and deal with them swiftly. You won't even know they're missing!"

"Really," the Captain repeats, "That won't be necessary. Protocol dictates I, as the arresting officer, personally handle them and their case until they've been proven innocent. I'm sure you're aware of this, Miss..."

Romanova doesn't supply her name. She smiles some more instead, her ruby lips stretching wide across her face until the corners of her eyes are wrinkled like Odin's singular eye, and nods.

"Very well," she concedes, taking a step back towards the shadow she'd appeared from. "Then please, Captain, keep us updated on what happens to these two. We're _very_ interested in what happens to these two. _Very_ interested."

"Will do," the Captain answers, and just as he does, Romanova disappears into the shadows and stays disappeared. The Captain doesn't relax, and neither do his officers, until the little robot moves forward on its little pincer feet towards Thor and Jane and shouts, "APPREHEND THE CRIMINALS! GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILLTTTYYY!"

The tension in the air breaks, all of the officers relaxing ever so slightly as they react to the little robot. "Sure thing, little guy," the Captain sighs, exasperation only barely hiding the fondness in his voice. "Now, if you two would be so kind as to take a deep breath?"

Thor grips Jane's hand tighter, feeling the same response from her slim fingers, and with one shared look, they both inhale deeply.

"Hold it," the Captain tells them, walking towards them slowly. "And for the love of God, don't fight us."

And with that ominous advice, the balaclava wearing officers swarm the two of them like angry bees. Thor tenses, Mjolnir thrumming at his side, ready to fight, but Jane keeps him still with another squeeze of her hand as their vision turns black from the officer's uniforms, the sound of wings loud and invasive in their ears.

It disappears just as quickly as it had appeared, their sight seemingly coming back to them around the same time as the smell of disinfectant makes itself known. The small group of police officers are suddenly well out of Thor's reach - including the Captain, who's walking away from them to a figure erratically pacing the length of a hospital room.

Thor quickly realises their surroundings as the hospital, knows when Jane equally realises it as she exhales the air she’d been holding sharply in surprise. Deflating his own lungs through his nose, Thor keeps her close, taking comfort in the warmth of her body and the way she instinctively leans back into him, and studies the only unknown in the room - the still pacing figure.

"Shelly Jr. found them, just in time as well." The Captain says to the dark haired stranger. "It was close, but we’ve brought them. Now what?"

The person stops, spins on the balls of his feet towards them, and spreads his arms wide in a confident move that quickly has everyone's attention.

"Now," Tony Stark announces, the manic look in his eyes matching the equally manic grin on his face, "Now we _burn this place down._ "

#

Thor has seen much throughout his life, has experienced what only few could claim to even dream off, outranked each and every mortal on this realm by a few millennia, if not more...

... But never in his life has he come across such insanity as on friend Tony's face.

"He's _lost it_ ," Jane hisses into his ear, covering her words by smoothing down his hair. "Just look at his eyes!"

Thor doesn't need to look into his friend's eyes, because he can see the insanity clear as day even without it. But he can also see that this is his friend's 'true side', the one that only comes out during the darkest of slumbers, and not the personality produced by this city. Which begs the question, how is friend Tony keeping himself awake?

Jane - proving just how fitting she is to him - asks the same question as soon as it crosses his mind.

Giving a jerky flourish, Tony - wide-eyed and almost rabid with energy - announces, "Adrenaline, my fair lady! Wait, who the hell are you anyway, and why are you hanging off Thor like that? You his new beau? His latest squeeze? Damn, you're _tiny_ next to him, that's actually worrying; I'm starting to feel very concerned for you here. That sort of size difference _can't_ be comfortable, can it?"

Flushed red in embarrassment, Jane stutters until Thor takes pity on her and asks, "What manner of curse is this 'adrenaline' you speak off?"

Tony _beams_ at him, "Think coffee but bigger, stronger, and more lethal, shot straight to the heart, and you've got it in one, big guy. It's _great_."

Knowing full well what coffee does to his friend, Thor is suitably terrified by the explanation. Jane, on the other hand, is _fascinated._ "So you're using adrenaline to stay awake so you can remember everything?"

"Yup!" Tony pops out, all but bouncing where he stands in manic energy. "But seriously, who the hell are you? I don't think I've seen you before, and I'd rather not risk the chance that you're one of _them_."

"Them?" Thor frowns, just as Jane quickly rushes out an introduction of, "Oh! Um, I’m Doctor Jane Foster. An astrophysicist."

Tony stares at her for a moment, twitching ever so slightly, before finally saying, "Must suck for you, since Night Vale's stars are _totally fucked_."

Jane twitches herself. "It really, really does."

"Introductions aside," the balaclava wearing captain politely interrupts, "Dr Banner's still missing. They'll be after him if they haven't already caught him."

Tony nods erratically, mouth opening to speak, but Thor silences him by repeating himself, "They? Who are _they_?"

Mouth snapping shut, Tony turns to look at him, face uncharacteristically serious.

" _They_ ," he answers. "Are Strex Corp Synernist."

#

They don't get the chance to come up with a plan of action to save Banner.

Instead, as soon as Tony catches Thor and his beau up with the situation (as far as he's aware anyway, what with having been _completely out of it_ for a good two thirds of _two fucking years_ ), a huge, green, _giant_ lumbers round the corner, and makes a beeline for Tony.

Tony, who might just squeak a little in shock.

"Tony," the huge monolith grunts at him, big, green face scowling fiercely. "Tony hurt?"

 _Jesus_ , Tony thinks somewhat hysterically, rubbing at his exhausted eyes, maybe the adrenaline's already kicking into the dangerous portion of its stay. What were the side effects again? Cerebral haemorrhage? "Um, no," he finally replies lamely. "I'm, uh, fine?"

"Ah!" Thor shouts in glee. "Warrior Hulk! You are free! Excellent!"

Hu...lk...?

The name sounds strangely familiar, like one of his old, _old_ inventions created in his early teens that he cringes at the mere thought off now, but for the life of him he can't figure out why.

Maybe this guy is from his other life? And how messed up is it that he even _has_ an 'other' life, one that even _he's_ not completely aware off?

"Hammer man," the Hulk (Hulk?) greets Thor with, expression morphing into what very much looks like a sneer. "Quiet. Hulk talk to Tony now."

Huh. A giant green dude wants to talk to him. Maybe Pepper was on to something about his lack of self-preservation instincts, because for some reason Tony's not terrified in the slightest as the behemoth of a creature turns his considerably focus on him. He’s just _curious_.

"Tony," the- the _thing_ sounds too cruel, and Tony doesn't even call his AIs things, so- the _giant_ \- yes, that'll have to do. "Why Tony in healing science building?"

Healing... science building...? Tony blinks slowly and says, "You mean the hospital, big guy?"

"Hos-pii-tal," the Hulk agrees, nodding his large head in confirmation. "Tony need hos-pii-tal?"

Jesus, could the guy be a giant, green, male (male?), version of a Pepper Potts? "I'm fine," Tony repeats himself in a faint voice, "Everyone's fine. We're, uh, making a plan?"

The Hulk frowns at him like Tony's said something particularly stupid. "Everyone not fine. Suit hurt. People in white heal him."

Before Tony can process that, the giant suddenly folds his legs beneath himself and sits down in a lotus position with a big enough thump that the entire hospital shakes. Tony keeps his balance with the help of his adrenaline-filled IV stand, but somewhere behind him he hears a tiny, mechanical voice screech in alarm, sounding suspiciously like Dummy.

So the big guy wants to sit, okay, nothing wrong with that, Tony thinks to himself reassuringly. He remembers enough about his first few months here before his trip to the library to know that a big, jolly green giant is the least of the peculiarities of Night Vale - messed up constellations one of them.

But then, just as he's coming to grips with this, the big green giant guy slowly starts to... _shrink._

Just like that.

A whole _shit ton_ of body mass disappearing in a slow, incredulous, blink.

"Fuck me drunk," Tony hears himself say, staring in morbid fascination at the small, ruffled man left behind in place of the Hulk. "Where can I sign up for that?"

Thor laughs, a slight shaky quality to it, and moves to Tony as his scientist girlfriend moves to the new guy. He squeezes Tony's shoulder reassuringly with a massive hand, ducking his head slightly as he says, "I had worried how you would take Dr Banner's transformation in your current state, friend Tony."

Still wide-eyed and staring as Jen-? Jill-? Jan-? helps the dark haired man, it takes Tony a moment to process Thor's words. "Wait- _that's_ Dr Banner? As in-... But how the _hell_ does a reputable scientist go from scruffy, kinda cute and whoa- okay, actually look at the body, _very_ fit, strangely so for a nerd in the bio field- turn into a jolly green giant? Actually, how the hell does said jolly green giant know _me_?"

That's a good question, actually. A _very_ good question. Tony goes very still and tightly asks, "Just how many people in this room is other me on friendly terms with?"

Apologetically, Thor answers, "All of them."

Great. No wonder the men in balaclavas had thought it weird when he'd started pelting them with rocks. To _their_ knowledge, he was friendly whatever-the-fuck-other-him-even- _does_ , and not the guy they used to constantly drag from the city's borders and facilitate in his imprisonment. _Great_.

“I suppose this would be a good moment to also tell you that you and the good doctor were in a… momentary relationship.” Thor continues carefully, blue eyes trained on Tony’s face and reaction. “He ended it once he realised who you were because he did not want to take advantage of you.”

Tony forces his face to go blank, to hide whatever the hell his arc reactor's doing in his chest from showing on his face, and nods tightly to show that he's heard. He also surruptiously dislodges Thor's hand from his shoulder, making it seem casual but pointed; because right now, touch is the last thing he wants.

Thor, apologetic and painfully understanding, let’s him go, moving instead to help Banner get a hold of himself. The scientist sways slightly on his feet, but he's slowly but surely becoming more and more alert with every passing second, now dressed in a pastel green scrubs someone had procured for him - the clothes all but dwarfing his suddenly small and vulnerable body. Considering Tony has only just seen how very much _not_ small or vulnerable that body actually is, the sudden discrepancy is a bit jarring, but Tony's bitterly used to that sensation.

He used to be in control of his life. He'd fought his way out of Afghanistan, out of imprisonment in those caves under the 'gentle' hand of the Ten Rings. He'd _escaped_.

Now, he's just an inmate in yet another prison. In another Afghanistan (Night Vale), in another cave (the waiting abyss of deep sleep), under another Ten Rings (Strex Corp).

And he can't even remember any of it.

Something bumps up against his feet, an indignant sounding squawk catching Tony’s attention. Frowning, Tony glances down at his feet, ready to brush off whatever had bumped up against him, but stops when he notices exactly what it is.

A tiny little robot, about the size of a fist, waving a pincer-like appendage up at Tony threateningly.

Tony stares at the little thing, not understanding what he’s seeing, and slowly shuffles down to a crouch.

“The hell are you supposed to be?” He asks curiously, plucking the thing right off its feet and turning it over.

The robot squawks again, pincer like feet and the two crab like hands waving madly in the air for purchase. “I AM DEPUTY SHELLY JR, SUB BRANCH OF LEAUITENANT SHELLY. UNIT DESIGNATION SHELLY DOUBLE OH TWO, SERIAL CODE 33Y2RD.”

Interesting… The little shit can talk. Tony itches to open up the visible casing on its stomach and dig in, but something holds him back. “And who the hell made you, kid?” He curiously asks instead, drumming his fingers on its belly and grinning when it twitches and purrs.

“UNIT DESIGNATION SHELLY DOUBLE OH TWO WAS CONSTRUCTED BY UNIT DESIGNATION SHELLY,” the little robot begins. “ROOT ADMIN BELONGS TO UNIT CREATOR TONY STARK.”

Tony inhales sharply in surprise, blinking back the sudden sting in his eyes, and carefully puts Shelly Jr down right side up. “Shit,” he curses, running a hand across his face, rubbing at his eyes. “Goddamn fucking shit.”

“Are you alright, friend Tony?” Thor’s voice rumbles above him, tone worried.

Swallowing thickly, Tony keeps his face covered as he answers with a generic, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, big guy. Just…” Shocked. Startled. Shaken, not stirred.

Because even when he’s been some god knows what with absolutely no memory of himself, he’d made a tiny, annoying little AI. Two, apparently. Because no doubt memory-less-him had missed Dummy.

Fucking hell, that changes everything. Before, he’d thought other him was just that, _other him_. There’s been no sign of any familiarity between the two – Tony, even now, can’t remember a single thing about what he’d gotten up to during the time he’d been asleep, and apparently other had no idea about anything _period_. But other him had made an AI. Had made an AI that’s obviously annoying and irritating and fondly exasperating all in one. Other him couldn’t have known it was missing Dummy, or JARVIS, but he’d tried to reconstruct them anyway from whatever vague feeling he’d had. The shit could talk like JARVIS, but was obviously clumsy like Dummy.

Neither were the real deal, but other him couldn’t have known that.

So what else has his other self done? Will Tony ever get the memories from his other life? The two years he’s missed entirely? The relationship he’d apparently had and somehow screwed up with Dr Banner?

(And seriously, how typical is it that he’d mess _that_ up even when he wasn’t _himself_?)

Tony needs to know. He needs to know like he needs air and sleep and JARVIS’ voice soothingly telling him that everything’s alright. Screw feeling sorry for himself; so what if he’s been captured and kept in the most effective stranglehold _ever_ for the past two years? Two years, three months, whatever, it’s all the same – in the sense that they’re both _too long_ – and they’re both going to end in the exact same way.

With Tony blowing his way free.

Slapping his cheeks on either side, Tony pushes himself upwards to stand, inhaling deeply and exhaling it just the same as he turns to face the others. Banner looks perfectly steady now, if not a bit exhausted, and Tony absently notices the strange tension between him and Foster (Jill? Seriously, Tony’s sure her name’s Jill, or maybe it’s July? Or Julia?). He files it in a mental folder of Strange Things That Might Turn Out To Mean Something, logs the time and date, and saves it.

Then he takes a deep breath, and with a raised voice says, “Listen up, minions!”

Everybody turns to face him, and all of them go silent.

Tony revels in the attention, reminded of the Stark Expo and the thousands upon thousands of adoring fans, and stands taller. “Since we’re all here save for the agents, I’m going to tell you the plan.”

“The… plan?” Banner’s voice murmurs softly in the crowd.

“That’s right!” Tony crows in response, punching the air with the hand not holding his IV stand. “The plan! How to take down Strex Corp, liberate Night Vale, and save everybody plan!”

The Captain of the Sheriff’s Secret Police politely raises a hand. “And what is this plan, exactly?”

Tony’s free hand – no longer punching the air in motivation – sticks out an index finger, “One: take down Strex Corp,” the middle finger pops up to join the index, “Two: liberate Night Vale,” the ring finger joins its two companions, “And three! Save everybody!”

“That’s… a plan?” The Captain.

“A fine plan!” Thor.

“That’s a _terrible_ plan.” Star-science girl.

Banner sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and carefully asks, “Strex Corp? Why does that name sound familiar? Also, Agent Coulson is a few rooms down the hallway, Agent Romanov is in the City Council, but I’m not sure where Agent Barton is.”

“Lady Romanova is _not_ in the City Council,” Thor emphatically disagrees, Milky Way Girl enthusiastically nodding beside him. “We have seen her, and while she seems sound of body, she did not seem sound of mind. I fear she has somehow become controlled by the enemy.”

“Switched, most likely,” The Captain agrees before turning to Banner. “Strex Corp Synernists is without a doubt behind everything happening here in Night Vale. They’ve captured many of our citizens and replaced them with smiling, business-attire wearing, fakes. It took us too long to realise what was happening – the only ones that did were the children – and it wasn’t until Tony came that we even began suspecting anything.”

“Great,” Tony replies dryly, “So glad I could be of help. You, Janet – wait, no, you’re not Jan, what the hell, I _miss_ that little rich tycoon, goddammit – go find Agent Agent and tell him to get off his lazy ass and find his missing ducklings. Shoo.”

Charmed out of her stargazing socks, fake-Jan scuttles off to do just that.

“You, Banner, come here and tell me what the hell you and fake-Jan were doing in this city in the first place. I need to know how the hell you got here and if it’s similar to how I did.”

Looking slightly less charmed and _extremely_ more reluctant, Banner inches forward as if Tony’s a danger to his safe being.

Guy has good instincts. That’ll come in handy.

“Cap, be a doll and take a couple guys with ya and go stake out the City Council? Feel free to go in if you get the chance, I have a feeling something’s inside there. And if you meet the Sheriff, send him on over, will ya? I haven’t seen him since the whole library thing. Thor, you can fly. Take little- wait, what’s your name again? Shelly? Who the fuck thought it’d be a good idea to name you Shelly? What kind of a name is Shelly anyway? Are you fucking kidding me right now? Urgh, fine. Take Shelly and- what? Shelly Jr? Oh, okay- Take Shelly Jr and find a way to throw her inside Strex Corp’s building. She can scout the place out for us. Come here you little shit, let me check your visual parameters and see what Other Me even did.”

“Pretty sure it was Shelly that made her,” Banner says, standing beside him and curiously peering down as Tony opens Mini Shelly apart. “Do you remember either of them, by any chance?”

Half distracted by the mechanical innards now open up to him to play with, Tony replies distractedly. “Hmm? From Other Me’s memories? Naah, I don’t have a fucking clue where the hell this one came from. This is all new- oh, hey, that little trick there’s from You. Seems like Other Me’s got some stuff from _me_ , but not vice versa. Done! Here,” he says, handing Shelly Jr off to Banner who quickly catches her before she falls to the ground. “Give her to Thor, I’m gonna go talk to Agent Agent.”

Banner starts to say something, something that sounds strangely like his name, but he cuts himself off and… curls in on himself, looking as gloomy as a rainy day.

Tony ignores him – ignores him and the fact that other him had apparently been in a _relationship_ with him – and stalks off in the direction he’d seen Star Gazing Fake-Jan go to, IV line trailing behind him like an ever faithful dog.

He’s got work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> You have the right to remain silent and roll on over to my tumblr, [sheriffbadass](http://www.sheriffbadass.tumblr.com). You have the right to send asks, and if you're too shy for it, then you shall be appointed the veil of anon to allow you to do so.


End file.
